Greatest Price
by Silver Blazen
Summary: Steve must take the stand against the darkness as old ghosts of his past threaten to take his strength, heart and his best friend's soul. Driven by the guilt of failing to save Bucky in 1944, the captain must fight to restore what has been lost to him. It won't be easy, however, he must find hope in himself and not lose his true existence.(Co-written by: Thalion Estel)
1. Chapter 1

**Greatest Price**

**(Co-written by ****Thalion Estel and edited by LeDbrite )**

**All Captain America characters belong to Marvel Comics**

**I own nothing.**

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**{Chapter 1}**

He felt the midnight hour was approaching. The harvest moon was a misty shade of orange. Leaves twirled under gleams of streetlights. Darkness moved against the amber haze of the restless city. People overlooked a solitary figure as a shadow drifting throughout the hours of the night. He wasn't considered a man, but a ghost of a nameless and forgotten solider. He had lost his way home. James Buchanan Barnes. It was days, years since he suspected that that was his name. First the awareness that he felt when his eyes became transfixed on the images of Captain America, and then it followed as he stood in front of exhibit of the Howling Commandos, reading off their names to himself with memory and awareness, but between the shades of infinite gray.

Although, he felt blood pumping in his veins, he couldn't feel it. He was the Asset. Not some blonde haired soldier's friend. Inside his addled mind, there was a storm; a cyclone of memory that ravaged his disciplined thoughts was flickers of faces and reflections of a young man dressed in a uniform. He'd spent days, avoiding newspaper stands and storefront windows. He didn't want to look at the fading visage of himself. He wanted to look back into the darkness.

Shoving his gloved hands into the pockets of his tattered leather jacket; hunched his shoulders and his face under his new baseball cap. His long strands of messy brown hair loosely fell over his clenched jaw. Once his got a clear understanding of his sense of direction, he trudged cautiously through, pale blue eyes scanning methodically over the obscured alleyways and parking lots. He was searching for something. Instead of asking for directions from the occasional passing hooded figure who intruded his space, he paced back into the shadows, and watched traffic with his unmoving and hollow gaze. He could kill anyone within seconds; his combat knife was tucked in the pocket of his faded jeans. He refused to allow his savage impulses to control him; he seized enough resistance to permit his programming from engaging into a lethal assault with an unarmed bystander captured in his intense gaze.

Suddenly there was a shift of dread, he felt trapped, and a cold sweat of an arising fever seeped out of his pores. He released a deep and heavy exhale of panic. His back slammed against the wall, his lips parted as hot breath contorted in his lungs. His darkened eyes shifted in all directions, and chrome fingers curled over his knife. He turned his head and locked livid pools of blue on a group of monsters and superheroes casually walking across the street, holding pillowcases filled with candy. He crouched down low, behind a parked vehicle, his blood pumping in his ears as he waited for the right moment to assault. When he heard the childish laughter emerge from the mask, he sensed there was no danger and withdrew from his attack. It was Halloween.

"ребятишки." He murmured with a cold breath, and straightened his form. He stared at the group until they disappeared from his view. He didn't follow them. His boots crunched over specks of glass scattered across the cement and he walked to the curbs in hushed and orderly steps. He needed motivation to live once more, and not get to be struck in a void of fractured memories.

Commotions of activity jarred through his bones, and he tore his look away, and moved his body before a storefront window. Hurling out a full breath, he took a look at the visage of a young man got in reflection-clean shaven jaw and full lips; regardless he conveyed the presence of a threatening, deadly wraith.

Snarling up his throat, he faulted a step back, metal hand grasped and his eyes tore away. He shook his head, feeling a wave of uneasiness crawling over him. He continued strolling aggressively, not paying attention of his surroundings. Then, he halted in his strides, and heaving out a heavy gulp of air, he gripped his fingers over the iron bars of a rusted gate of a cemetery. He whipped his head around feeling a pair of unseen eyes watching his movements. He gazed passively at the dismal marble headstones and markers. It was an asylum for the dead.

He needed to rest.

Pushing the gate with the power of his metal hand, he pounded his boots over pieces the crumpled stone. A harrowing sense fear had found a way to slither in his veins; however, he overlooked those stirrings when he walked closer to a barren tree. His imposing form loomed before the oval and monolith gravestones of fallen soldiers who had returned home after the war had ended in 1945.

Each of the markers was split with grime and neglect. In other words: forgotten.

"Sergeant James Barnes..." An encroaching voice interrupted his thoughts. Alarmed, he shot a hooded glare on a nameless grave. His eyes drooped as he caught a glimpse of rotten flower petals scattered over the untouched earth. Blankly gazing at the spot, he mindfully approached the grave, his shadow moved over the stone marker. "It's been a long time, Winter Soldier..."

He struggled to process memory. "Who's there?"

For a moment, silence came over the area, until he heard a shattering scream in the darkness. He spun around quickly; his hat fell to the ground, and pulled out his knife. His fingers fastened over the handle as he listened with enhanced hearing. It was cry of distress that stirred between the trees. It was a cry for help. Another chuckle echoed in the dead space. Unfaltering, he did a quick perimeter check, and maintain his balance. His blue eyes glinted in the dimness of moonlight.

The Winter Soldier approached the gravesite with slow calculating movements of a stalking predator, waiting to feel the adrenaline rush of the chase. He froze and narrowed an unsettling glower at slender dark creature sprawled in front of a tombstone. It was obviously a stray cat. Lifeless and battered with her little pink tongue hanging out of her mouth. He assessed the dead feline, his fingers brushed over the drenched fur with a touch of benevolence. He felt raw emotion crawl back into him as his hand pressed gently over dislocated bones. The cat had been crushed and thrown against the stone. Her back was broken He guessed that was the cause of her death. He narrowed his eyes with a solemn gaze and he smelt blood as interpretable fog of red engulfed his mind. His stoic posture was disturbed by a stab of discomfort and unease within his abdomen.

It was strange and unnatural.

Feeling a tug on his heartstrings, the Winter Soldier felt compelled to tenderly stroke his metal fingers over the black fur. It was clear to him that someone misused the defenseless creature. Staring, his blue eyes darkened into piercing daggers of ice. He scooped up the body in the cradle of his solid arms. He didn't want to leave her for other strays to devour her body into pieces.

He crashed to his knees, laden on the ground, and pounded his metal fist into the grass, his metal fingers smeared with mud as he broke his lips open and unleashed a cry of anguish. He screamed and felt his nose crinkled at the smell of terror and death blanketing over his disheveled form. He was tired of staring at the grim shrouds of death, and the excruciating pain that scorched in his bones and made him feel like his blood melted inside his veins.

Little fragments of memory emerged out of his mind; scattered images became pieces of a stolen life-there was a condemning sense, and the Winter Soldier felt it encase over his bones. His eyes fixed on the murdered animal and hand scooped the body into the nest of his broad arms, he cradled the cat against the exposed tactical armor of his chest. Light gathered in the depth of his intense gaze of icy blue. He had no idea why he had accepted humanity back into the rifts of his tormented soul and how he responded to the stray with gentleness of a child.

A harsh cough erupted in the shadows; he whirled around and scanned for illusions of danger. Behind the clustered shapes of graves his eyes fell onto a woman standing underneath the contorted branches of the tree with a sinister look shrouding on her wrinkled face. Pressing his thumb over the handle of his weapon, his death glare leveled with her dark eyes, and he stood frozen. The cloying sense of uncertainty and the heavy smell of blood made his stomach react with sickening churns of unease. His heart thumped with concurrent thuds against his chest. His eyes glinted at the stranger, a feverish and daunting blue, as confusion settled within the ridges of his tensed form.

The woman crept forward with a shady look on her aging face. Her eyes moving up and down to scan over his tall body. His jaw fixed with anger as he stepped back, and his knife rose to her shoulder. He had to overcome her threat. She didn't move. Her gaze settled on the cat. He watched her for another moment, and then twirled his weapon between his fingers of his left hand. He growled, dangerous, albeit and gravelly, even though she revealed to hostility. "Make a move. I will slash your throat. It will be unwise if you try to attack me." Sensing no attempt of an assault he slowly crouched down and placed the cat near the grave. "This animal has been slain in a brutal way." He breathed out, settling his gaze back at the woman—he started to feel a bad sense of deception coming from her—she didn't look like an approachable person and there was a foul smell that kept him distant... "Did you kill her?"

The woman coldly glowered at his knife. She pressed her wrinkled lips into a sneer. Her body twisted with an eerie snake-like movement. "Perhaps I did drain her blood with a simple spell." She snapped her fingers and instantly the limp paw of the cat rose and sunk its claws into his right arm. Alarmed, he wrenched his arm back, and rubbed the coldness of his metal hand over the damaged skin. "Black cats made the perfect and loyal companion for many types of evil that walk in human flesh. You should know, Winter Soldier, because in the way you were HYDRA's obedient pet."

He furrowed his eyebrows into a firm crease, "How do you know me?" he asked, with sluggish ting in his baritone. Feeling a shift of discomfort his eyes narrowed at the cat and recollection suddenly dawned onto him. "Wait...Are you accusing me...?" He couldn't finish his words as the woman circled around him like a coiling serpent waiting to strike him down. She knelt in front of the cat, and pressed her hand over the stomach. "Stay away from me!" He growled fiercely.

"It's too late for that. You have to pay for your mistakes." She lashed back with a vicious timbre, and dug her fingernails into the cat's chest, breaking through fur and tissue as she advanced closer to him. The Winter Soldier lurched aback, trying to escape from her. "You can't fight for your soul because haven't got one." she coldly sneered, watching his expression turn dismal underneath the obscurity of his long brown hair and she added, "You have been immobilized for the transcendence of a new life." She lifted up the lifeless body over his head, and watched the blood leak aimlessly out from the hole she created and watched it drip over his jaw. "When I'm done you'll be nothing...Just a worthless stray without a name."

"Shut up!" He seethed out an angry breath. He pushed her knee out with direct force of his hand. A rueful grin crossed his lips as he listened to the sound of socket popping out. Then, he swiveled his knife and jabbed it deep and hard into her calf bone. "Bleed...ведьма!"

The woman fell backwards onto her back, groaning aloud and holding her aching knee. "You'll pay for that..." She muttered, despite herself. Her surprise was washed away by rage as she scrambled to her feet.

Heaving out breath, the Winter Soldier tried to resume his assault but the distance between them in his crouched position and the lumbering pain in his body slowed as he meant to swing at the witch who promptly dodged the imprecise assault. "So you want to play dirty." The woman used her own strength and punched him across the face, forcing him to his haunches. He raised his head again only to receive a vicious backhand to the face. Blood trickled in his mouth.

"WHAT NOW?!" She yelled down at him then proceeded to spit down on him. "You're done, Soldier..."

He barely registered her as his vision swam and limbs failed him. He felt something worm through his veins. It clotted his blood with heat. He recoiled in pain, tucking his metal arm over his chest, wanting to crawl away from her inhuman stare bearing down at him. Twisting in wild movements, his slender frame automatically dropped to all fours as she seized his long strands, forcing his head back up with a violent yank.

He blinked his eyes, livid and burning with intensity of metallic azure. His rounded pupils changed into diamond slits once the moonlight retracted over his irises. One hiss erupted out of his lips.

"Black cats are symbols of death and shadow. It is said from ancient times that lost souls become trapped in vessels of disheveled creatures." The woman spoke in a sadistic whisper, uncurling her fingers, unveiling a purple stone that glowed against her palm. The Winter Soldier opened his mouth to protest, however, nothing clear escaped from his grimacing lips. All that emitted was a strangled cry of a tortured beast. He choked as he realized that he sounded like a cat.

"No," he managed to with an intermixed sound of a distressed mewl. She was merciless to his agony, and coiled her bony fingers around his thick neck. He had begun to claw at her, hissing and thrashing his body, until she released the hold off his throat.

"This is what happens when you defy the orders that HYDRA has given to you." She said, smirking down at him ruthlessly, the stone glowed as he struggled to push her away from him. "When the change fully comes into effect you will feel pain. That will be only one part of your punishment. That good soldier who tried to save you from us will endure the same cold and dark future."

"That won't happen," The Winter Soldier spat, fuming. His blue eyes darkened as he focused on the stone, the rare gem pulsed with energy. He glared dangerously at her, seething a hot breath through shaving of pointed teeth. He was developing small fangs. Hatred veiled over his face. Defiance burned within the razor depth of his eyes. He became unhinged, untamed and violent. His metal fist battered into the ground as muscles jolted with restrictive pressure under his clothes. He knew that she was making him a captive of something torturous and depraved.

"You're a sick..." His thoughts jumbled. He couldn't muster up the strength finish. Still, he refused to surrender to the enchantment ensnaring over his body. He summoned enough aggressiveness to force his hand into stone as he underwent the horrific ordeal of pain. His tongue suddenly became laden against the roof of his mouth. What caught his fury were the slow and haunting waves of hand from the cruel and yet mysterious woman in front of him.

"Your future will be worse than death, solider."

"I RATHER DIE!" He roared against the thrall of the painful transfiguration jolting through his bones, his deep voice decreasing into the inhuman shrill of an animal, His bones were paralyzed in the pain of transformation as each passing moment reduced him from the man he was...All his thoughts could comprehend was panic setting in, panic that he had long ago pushed away, returning in full force like a regrouped enemy.

His gaze was hard as he staggered inches away from her shadow. "You-you." He couldn't finish as a harsh spasm forced him down to lie on his side, facing the grave. His blue eyes widened with mounting horror as he beheld the black fur covering his deformed right hand that closely resembled a paw. "No…" He managed past his thinning lips that began to contort with the bones of his jaw. Twisting and detaching as a feline muzzle began to form.

"This can't be happening to me." He felt himself thrashing violently, harsh and lament whines escaping his mouth.

He screamed out anguished cries, blood dripped out from the corners of his mouth as the crackling noises of his bones erupted under the layers of his clothes. He was suffocating and his blue irises burned with fever. He dug his gloved fingers into the earth, feeling the pull of his bones as his body mass begun to shrink from normal proportions of his deteriorating limbs. His heart increased and hammered against his chest; organs entwined and hot tears rolled heavily over his broken jaw.

The Winter Soldier knew that was happening to him. His humanity was being stripped away piece by piece from the inside out and there was nothing he could do to fight against it. The sight of his cybertronic arm reshaping into smaller limb made the experience more surreal and horrifying. He wanted to scream in both rage and distress, but his words failed him. A chilling and unnatural calamity began to overtake his body. His face became frozen in a semblance of anguish and irritable grimace. His skin and facial features had begun to stretch and decrease. His skin disappeared within fur enveloping it.

Screaming, he rolled onto his back, his hands dangling in the air as he watched in horror the tiny sliver digits tear through the leather tips of his gloves- claws. He had metal claws emerging from his bionic limb. His hands reshaped and decreased in size. Panting out labored patterns of breath, he groaned and jerked when he felt his skull shrinking, and his ears sharpened into triangle and messed his long strands as they moved to the dome of his head, but not just his ears -a painful tugging sensation over his firm backside drew his attention as he arched his back slightly off the ground, and listened with revulsion as his pants tore and a long black tail snaked out of his pants.

It was a cat's tail. He was becoming a cat. "NO!" he screeched out, his voice dying into a sound of a distressed feline. The pain wormed through his veins, clotting in his blood. He cried out in pain, sucking back a sharp intake of air as if a noose was coiled around his throat. He felt bile flow against his straining stomach and skin inched and grew hot. Despite his pain and suffering, the inkling hope remained inside of him as he focused on a memory of Captain America holding out his hand to grasp his own. It was the amount strength he needed; he had to endure instead of begging for a swift end… Gasping for breath, his blue eyes stared up at the sky as tears blurred his vision. He tasted death. He wanted to grasp that hand again. "Steve," he choked out, blood dripped over fur. He couldn't move as his transcendence of a new life continued. He kept on mumbling out broken words. "I've been such a j***..."

Clothing ripped as exposed muscle quivered against the coldness of the air. His pectoral grew thin and coated with black fur. His limbs remain laden on the ground and decreased into short frontal and hind legs. The metal plates of his arm rejoined with his new body. He hissed in pain and disgust when he chanced a glare at the witch. His voice was a captive in his feline vocals. "I -I..."

"Scream all you want, but nothing will save you," she sneered, watching in mirth as the handsome soldier bellowed out in torment as his body shrunk in horrific intertwines of muscle, bones and screams. James Barnes. The Winter Soldier. The deadliest Soviet assassin...combatant and ageless wraith was disappearing into a body of a stray cat. A small and worthless beast that prowled the streets and searched for a home.

He could see his arms and torso sinking underneath his clothing and his jaw and nose pulled out in painful unison. He closed his eyes to the gruesome sight; his bones throbbed and heart beat lessened. He could smell everything around him. The staleness in the air, the rotting stench of decomposed bodies underneath him and his own blood. His form was no longer tall and manly; instead it was now a slender form of helplessness. A feline.

"There is no escape from death. Accept your fate." She spoke, her tone cold and sordid. They were simply the hallowed words for a witch exercising her will in the form of judge, jury and executioner over her hated enemy. Her teeth gleamed in an evil smile, both smug and sadistic as she watched their transformation complete before her eyes...

At long last, the Winter Soldier felt the last vestiges of his humanity slip away from him as his long hair receded into his shoulder blades...and whiskers popped from his swollen muzzle. 'Steve...I'm sorry.' Were his thoughts as exhaustion and fatigue began to take its toll forcing him into paralysis. The world felt different. He felt different. Smaller... Furry… Weak... Irrelevant… His unchanged blue eyes swam about before taking in the sight of the witch standing over him.

"What have you done to me?" he screamed out.

"I changed you into a vulnerable creature for the dogs of HYDRA to chase." She glared down at where the once feral and intimidating Winter Soldier had been, now sat a black cat. He had three black furred legs, but his left frontal was metal with a tiny red star. The little beast was off-balanced and horrified by the aspects of his life. "I hope you don't waste your nine lives."

He stalked closer to her, and despite the feline nature controlling his actions, he managed to force his humanity up with a daunting voice, "I will find you," he hissed out the vicious warning, looking up at the witch with his blue daggers. "I will kill you," he concluded, before opening his mouth, and picking up his knife in his small jaws. He merely choked on the leather grazing over his rough tongue, but he had to become armed, and his metal claws dug into the earth, feeling the vibrations underneath him.

The witch lowered herself down, smirking darkly at the black cat, "If you can't save yourself, how will your friend, Captain Rogers survive?"

Clenching his jaw, the cat swiped his paw at her. "He will find a way." He hissed indignant, and slashed his claws at her legs, marring her wrinkled flesh as line of blood seeped out. He shifted his intent blue eyes and resumed his gaze on the dead cat. A victim. He noticed two small kittens shivering behind the tombstone. 'Where did they come from?' he thought. It was obvious they had belonged to the dead cat. He couldn't leave them. He had to protect them. "When I change back into a human...I will hunt you down and waste not even a second to put a bullet in you, witch." Then he decided his next action, he scooped the meowing babies up gently with his jaws and quickly stalked passed a headstone.

"Enjoy your nine lives, Winter Soldier," she replied, picking up his tattered pieces of his clothing. He stared intensely at her with enraged blue eyes; she knew his identity, his past and everything. Steve Rogers...The man of the bridge was her next victim. "Don't forget to beg for milk."

Keeping his little tongue pressed on the roof of his mouth, he shot her a piercing stare of extreme hatred, and prowled away from her, and searched for a safe area to keep the clinging kittens out of danger of humans and traffic. "Do what I tell you, kids," he muttered firmly, keeping the female close to his chest, as her tiny head nuzzled against his fur. The male was curled into a ball over his back, purring soundlessly. "...And we might just survive."

Feeling their hearts beat, tiny and content, vibrate through his slender form, the Winter Soldier stalked out of the graveyard, keeping himself elusive and tucked himself underneath a parked car, calculating his next tactic while a harrowing sense of dread crept over him and he realized that he was a ghost, no name, face or voice. Just his pained tears held his broken existence.

The violent gusts of wind lashed around his displaced, compromised body, he ignored it. He wanted to feel nothing.

He was trapped inside a prison of fur, only the blue shimmer of his eyes kept him from wearing the full semblance of a black cat. It was punishment he didn't deserve, HYDRA wanted to bury him in a grave, make him taste death. He aborted his mission and saved a good man that called out his name against the crimson fog of his damaged mind. He could sense that the lifeless cat, he handled was a once a human, a victim of HYDRA who became desecrated by a dark enchantment and sentenced to roam the earth as a cat. As the bitter cold weaved against him and his strength began to fade away.

The man or whoever he once was had vanished and he was barren from humanity and left to fend for not only his life, but two more lives that the soldier inside of him offered to protect.

Curling into a ball, he placed the kittens close to him, stroking their bodies with a flick of his tail. The coldness of his past seemed to have melted away. He closed his eyes to stop the flow of tears.

'Focus on the mission, soldier,' he thought, snapping his head up, and looked down with a protective stare at the shivering fur balls nudging their tiny faces into his side. Whining, the little female, called out for her mother, Bucky lowered his head and rubbed his muzzle over her body, soothing down her cries of distress as he listened for the dangers around them. "I have to find...The man with the shield."


	2. Chapter 2

**Greatest Price**

**{2}**

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Bucky felt his insides contorting cruelty, bones rubbing over the slightness of his censured body; soul was tangling against the disorder and fear was disentangling inside him. Coldness of the midnight air wavered over him, lashing against his black fur, making him move anxiously against the harsh, sub zero asphalt.

The exhaust of auto fumes entered his nostrils, as he took in the mixtures of aromas, human body oils, rottenness secured rats and rot heaping in tight corners of empty back streets.

It made his slim stomach agitate as he granulating the back of his needle pointed teeth, gripping his muzzle and screwing his eyes close as headlights of clamoring movement reflected over his distressed structure. He mewed out tormented cries, his body reshaped in torment; tail influenced with his quick heartbeats, his covering of smooth fur became hot and soaked as his psyche suffocated with cat senses.

He was a feline. The lean, dark cat opened his mouth and gave a long, melancholy cry in memory of his human presence, replied by the cats' delicate howling and apprehension as they clustered against him. Frightened by their friendly touch, Bucky twitched and murmured out a hinting cautioning, "Back off," he snarled, fuming out his rancor, cutting his right frontal paw noticeable all around and simply cut the tiny female with his razor edged claws, practically curtailing.

She responded at his upheaval and afterward she wobbled to the flat tire, shuddering into a little chunk of shadow as she cried harshly out for her mom.

Exasperated, Bucky backed off the asphalt; his heart was pumping hazardously quick, lighting into overdrive. The fur on his back remained on its end. His paws withdrew and muzzle grasped and unclenched. His breath developed into worn out pants. His entire body shaking. He stalked closer to the tire, attempting to recapture his humanity as he discharged strained breath, his lung starving for air.

He was intensely mindful of her misery; circumspectly he sat down before her, looking down at her trembling body shudder under his dull shadow. He moaned, keeping his terrified pools of gem blue locked over her. "Look," he started, his brain going clear as his vocal strings were pitching out gravelly and debilitated breaths. "I didn't intend to scare you...I'm not use to being a feline. Everything feels strange for me," he gagged out, utilizing a lighter tone as a part of his voice, cautious not to frighten the little kitten.

He let himself down, and got her with his metal paw, pulled her near to him, his midsection battered against her body. "Both of you need my protection. I won't t prematurely end this mission, you're young and helpless against the dangers on the streets..." he stopped in his words, automatic cocking his head up, breathing in the unclear stench of wet hide noticeable all around, however he couldn't affirm it. The cats made small clamors of yowling something was out there-something hazardous and acted like a danger to the babies.

Rapidly, Bucky grabbed the other kitten, setting him near to the female against the tire. He solidified passing, listening to the quiet development of a predator, he felt every vibration against the cushioning of his paws, he turned and took a look at the babies, "Don't move," he whispered, systematically going far from the undercarriage of the vehicle.

Filtering, he blue eyes sharp against the brilliant gleam of dirty quieted road light stroking over the darkened avenues of Washington, he brought down his body into an assaulting stance, his gut rubbing over the concrete as he got a look of a shadowy figure sneaking the umbra of the walkway, approaching his position, looking in trash cans and getting scraps of litter tucked in the splits. He eyes transformed into wide blackish spheres, closing out all light, as he gazed eagerly at a dirty, frenzied canine, dim hide, smudged and rumpled and enormous paws thinning up top with abuse.

The mutt moved toward the auto, its incensed dim eyes contracted and muzzle aired out to uncover a set of teeth, and dribble. He discharged a lethal growl, sniffing out the kittens, as he steps were moderate and infringing. Impulses told Bucky that the monster was a risk to the mewing infants, a seeker that would murder them with one lethal nibble of its bolted jaw.

With no faltering beating in his veins, Bucky glared angrily at the canine, his muscles jarred and paws withdrawn out, he lurched at the dog like a projectile shot from a gun inside seconds, his left metal paw pushing the beast's front leg back, and afterward he sunk his claws into uncovered substance, making the monster cry in agony as he cut the skin.

Blood had leaked out from the slice marks he exited amid his ambush. He murmured out violently, gnawing and mauling in a hide ball free for all, his little body moved against the canine, and he looked for the powerless focuses as his grabbed his rival, twisted his twist around the muzzle of the growling canine, fixing the mouth close, as he clung on upside down, and as angry disdain honed his blue eyes into liquid steel.

Yielding in torment, the dog mishandled on its rear legs, colliding with the wooden bench, his fuzzy midsection scratched and defaced with cut checks, and front legs bloodied.

Bucky discharged his paws, and arrived superbly on his feet, and glared mortally at the battered up canine.

"Leave," he requested, lashing out his claws,"Or I won't squander a second to kill you, mutt." he murmured out dimly, scowling with a drop of blood inclining down his head.

The dog whitened a shuddering step rearward and mixed away as he feline charged at him yet again, when the shadow of the beast blurred down the road, Bucky slipped underneath the auto, and was in a flash welcomed by little noses pushing over his body.

"Are you guys alright?" he asked with concern rattling in his woozy voice.

The female meowed out her reaction, and nestled her body against his midsection, murmuring delicately. Bucky feigned exacerbation, and stroking his muzzle over her body, and purred, feeling a spark of his humanity return, "Don't mention it, kid."


	3. Chapter 3

**Greatest Price**

**{3}**

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His iridescent eyes were spooky tone of sky blue, foggy ice around his jewel spheres; the moonlight reflected over his smooth black fur, providing for him the presence of an approaching wraith as Bucky stalked closer to the grave site; he felt the coldness of the ground infiltrated through his bones. Quietly he tested the stone with his paw, delving into the wet earth, and he felt numb against the frosty breeze wavering over his slim body. His blue eyes obscured with perniciousness as it cut as one with his jerking and gag into a glare.

"I hate this," Bucky protested coldly in nausea, feeling the clamminess of the ground retain against the cushioning of his paws. "Why?"

His head beat against the thoughtless considerations surging his memory—eating up pictures of his humanity with impulses of the midnight furred cat he was changed into by witch's cursive words.

Gradually, he contracted his foggy blue coals down at the heaps of grass—he felt his pink tongue lap against his fur as the staleness noticeable all around overwhelmed all his faculties.

Bucky curved his head hatefully and he gazed with disdain at the grime secured grave and blurring and overlooked name of the perished scratched over the rock that shadowed over his helpless structure he was a detainee who had gotten to be gobbled up in chasm and detached from humankind.

The dirty golden yellow light from the waxen moon got to be entangled in the profundity of his feline eyes as he stalked closer to the grave, and whitened an alarmingly step rearward from a shard of mirror set against the stone-the witch left it there remotely to decrease his plan to butcher his spirit and permit him to turn into a void of a subjugated and tormented cat. He sat unbendingly nostalgically gazing at impression of the slender creature welcomed him in the obscurity.

He shuddered, feeling his blood bubble and uncovered his teeth. He unleashed a non domesticated howl and in a flash he felt his little shape backlash back as he mulled over eagerly at the similarity he wore—he had the unique shading of his hair— chestnut and his puncturing eyes were still the brilliant, tender and savage blue rather than the gold he saw with the other stray felines.

His level and little muzzle had sprouts of stubbles and his body was thin with a long tail winding out of his posterior between his rear legs identifying feline appearance. Horrendously nauseated, he clipped his eyes close; feeling each fiber of his bolted soul attack pieces as he extinguished a horrid sound, "No," he said emphatically, his voice dry. His throat was tightening, vocal ropes limited. His breathing was getting harder to oversee. He felt the tears run adrift over his hairy face.

He rubbed his metal paw over his muzzle, attempting to wipe the tears clean. "This isn't me..."

Bucky glared at himself, absolutely appalled as he tore his eyes far from the mirror. He mixed to recover his resolved vanity, respect and his disobedient, unbreakable soul. He took an alternate look, exclusively peering past the impression of the feline and hunt down his actual self—the deadly and proficient executioner. The equalizer who was utilized like a weapon, with HYDRA pulling the trigger with each summon.

The Winter Soldier.

He hurled out a wretched breath, wrinkling his forehead as he gazed deeper, declining to handle incredulity rejecting the acknowledge the cool, gnawing truth that he will never turn into a human again—that he would decay in the jail and bear the torment of feeling his life slip further away in the insanity with every misery whimper that got away from his throat.

Gulping down his bravery, Bucky centered his eyes and gazed at the deception moral soul underneath the creature. There he was, remaining in the glass of the mirror—overwhelming, spooky and solid. His steely eyes were ashes of blue fire; his lips were still with the curve of his Cupid's bow breaking the dour scowl and his wide and etched jaw solid and hard with a lasting grip in the muscle. His dull and thick, untidy hair encircled over his threatening face. He looked perilous as his lips held the dimness of his debased nature.

"Who am I?" he discharged a rough murmur, his throat choked and tormented singed into his heart, however then his stern face moved his eyes welled with frightfulness as he brought down his head and sulked quietly, apathetic. "It doesn't matter...No one will remember that me anyways..."

He knew his presence was blurring deeper inside vessel of the feline he realized that he was no more the deadly and slippery professional killer The Winter Soldier-the best marksman, soldier and expert of stealth, no, he was a slave to a request a discouraged automaton for HYDRA's wiped out bemusement and he wasn't the only one with the unpreventable coldness of his destiny the two cats, feeble and vulnerable were a piece of the painful condemnation transfiguration, starvation, demise and afterward the more awful of all-slipping further into his new body, losing the weaves of memory, and spending his days slinking the avenues, anonymous, homeless and lost.

Anyhow he wasn't the only one.

* * *

The quieted orange of streetlamps reflected over brownstone; eager and depleted from an alternate disillusioning pursuit, Captain Steve Rogers rearranged quietly down the empty road. He looked rumpled, out of spotlight all alone considerations, as his sneaks crunched the stirring the leaves as he walked on the walkway, he didn't try checking the messages on his Starkphone, he was caught in a cover he could call his own despondency, permitting the blame and regret hide him from the world, however his determination was substantial and solid, he burned through three months gathering data of his closest friend's unfeeling and honorific past.

He spent his evenings shouting and tangling under the sheets of his bed, as the frequenting nightmarish pictures devoured his brain until he got to be hot with chastening scorn. He was lost in the domains of his tormented mind, feeling the cold prick of regret encase his bones as considerations streamed back numerous years, however with void. He had missed seventy years of his life-stuck in a solidified casket under the thickness of ice and water, feeling the world proceed onward without him, conveying the defacing blame of Bucky Barne's passing.

_"You know...Sometimes I think you like being a punching pack, Rogers," Bucky said, an affectionate grin tugged at his lips. He tenderly connected an a cube of ice over the wounded cheek. "How often is this now...Seven...Eight?"_

_"Ten," Steve jumped, gritting his teeth. "I had him on the ropes, Buck."_

_Bucky tightened lips up, and shook his head, "Right, much the same as you had the others on the ropes, huh, Stevie?" he brought up, and gazed at the youthful blonde haired kid, an egotistical smile on his etched face as he wiped off the smears of blood from Steve's base, part lip._

_"I never asked to get punched, Buck."_

"_No," Bucky moaned, solidly, "yet that big mouth of yours __doesn't know how to keep shut when you're in the spot."_

_Steve brought down his eyes, "I figure that this entire thing is truly my fault...I'm solid in my words, yet not anyplace else,"_

_"Stop with the dramatizations, Steve," Bucky whispered, tapping his friend's jaw, "You've got me to clean up the wrecks you make." he looked down at the other kid with his true blue eyes, "And I'm never going to let anything happen to you, little punk."_

He grinned happily at the blaze of memory, letting pictures of a more youthful Bucky Barnes replay in his troublesome mind as the he strolled to the crosswalk and held up for the traffic light to switch green.

Every deadlock of Barne's location made him sink deeper into defeat, slamming his bones with the heaviness of sadness; gagging him until he got to be voiceless. Today, Steve felt his least, viewing neighborhood kids accumulate on road corners spruced up at superheroes and creatures. Friends and brothers. Memories.

Murmuring profoundly, Steve hauled out Bucky's dog tags from a pocket of his pants, holding the chain and plates of metal up to the shine of light, gazing with his trained stone cobalt eyes at the name and date of conception scratched always, it was the main rest of Bucky's presence.

_"I can't do this, Bucky,"_

_Bucky grinned, his blue eyes brilliant with warmth, as he set his hand immovably on Steve's hard shoulder, "Take a look at me, Stevie," he talked placidly, lips never vacillated. "I realize that you can do this...If you fall...I'm here to lift your thin ass off the ground."_

_Steve looked down, his blood was squirming, as he gulped a bunch a trepidation and gazed at the rough crest. "Why did I give you a chance to talk me into this?"_

_"You needed fresh air and plus we never do anything fun," Bucky snickered dryly, smirking with a tender shine in his eyes. "Come on, if you want you can take my hand... You know that I will never let you go, right?"_

__"Yeah, I know." Steve blew out a breath, ruffling his golden tendrils of hair, and reached out his frail hand, and felt his best friend's hand envelope over his own, and__

__ with one heave of breath, he climbed the large rock, and stood next to Bucky while saying mutely, "I don't ever want to lose you, Buck." he sniffled, brushing his finger under his nose. _and with one hurl of breath, he climbed the expansive shake, and remained beside Bucky while saying mutely, "I never want to lose you, Buck." he sniffled, brushing his finger under his nose._

"Hey," Bucky returned, hunkering down low, lifting his jaw up, "You're not going to lose me..I_'m always going to be right here..." He lightly tapped Steve's chest, careful not the damage the rib bones. He told him with certainly, and wrapped his broad arms around him, pulling him into a massive, brotherly hug. "We're brothers...Stevie Rogers...Stupid and brave. We're always going to be together, because you've got me and I've got you..."_

_Feeling the warmth of Bucky against him, Steve twisted his lips into an unbalanced smile, and shut his eyes._

* * *

"I simply need you back, Buck," Steve whispered faintly. He felt a surge of torment cut through his heart. Furthermore he held the anchored chain near to the solidness of his midsection; muscles strained, making his blood stir with fluid warmth. He fixed his grasp into a clench hand.

He attempted to inhale, however everything was desolation.

Raising his head, Steve leveled his blue eyes to the poles of moonlight, he spoke with strong declaration in his voice, "I will find you, James Barnes. I promise."


	4. Chapter 4

**Greatest Price**

**{4}**

* * *

Something was mixing in the air all around him.

Bucky could sense it with his whiskers, something natural and obscure was starting to draw him into right course. His vigil of viewing clamoring activity cruise by, kept him at impasse at the crosswalk, he had no clue how to ensure the dozy little cats nestling in the middle of his front paws, his sharp ears jerked to the interesting vibrations of rubber from the tires crushing over black-top. He felt it under his paws. All soon the serene sounds would be broken by the straits of sirens blasting through the fundamental lanes, making his back curve up and hide remain on its end as the fretful city woke up.

It was just amid this hour that he longed that a few memories from his haunted and agonizing past had been kept, essentially in light of the fact that the early hours of morning were the time when he-the Winter Soldier got his orders to end focuses from roof tops, with draw the trigger of his expert marksman rifle, discharging an untraceable Russian slug past the mortar of dividers and enter beating hearts inside seconds in the wake of being release.

His own heart, icy and harmed mourned in grievance for the exploited people, their appearances rose up out of the dull cervices of his psyche, hands painted with blood snatching for him from the irritated earth, attempting to drag him down, detained him into a grave and close it close with chains locked around it. Where it counts, some place inside his lessened soul; Bucky needed reclamation and freedom from his nightmarish sins. He needed to eradicate everything out of his mind;; get to be reborn into a decent man and spare lives chose of wrecking them. It was evenings like this one, he longed for another opportunity to live without gnawing and certain coldness of HYDRA beating in his veins. Crying, if felines could show torment, he brought down his head in hatred, feeling the cat's little hearts pulsating against his dark hide. He was mindful that they were frightened, frosty and hungry; their muted whines let him know their needs.

They required their mom.

In this distressed moments, Bucky was resigned to follow his instincts. Without him the babies would die within days and he would carry that guilt along with every other life HYDRA ordered him to take under the gun. He would be alone to watch another part of his stolen and butchered life fade into myth and legend. He would be forgotten.

Yet amid this dull hour, Bucky felt near to his past than any time in recent memory in the recent past.

Startled, Bucky snapped his haunted, blue eyes down, and took a look at the tiny female snuggling her face into the metal plates of his traded off appendage, she was murmuring uproariously, eyes shut and muzzle rubbed over the cool amalgam. Panicked, the changed Soviet professional killer, scrunched his muzzle, and smothered a baffled moan. He didn't know how to respond to her destitute love, yet he didn't whitened away.

Rather he stayed still and disregarded her, and he deliberately watched his surroundings, checking for any looming risk. When he looked down way, he could see just few cars driving closer to traffic light that mirrored a rosy tinge of his coal black pelt. Yet, when he looked in the other way, he was scowling at dim states of structures, approaching shadows and sections of litter whirling in the light blasts of wind.

The range appeared sufficiently secure, to cross the side, he smoothly lifted the little cats up, with the scrape of their necks, being additional wary not to cut his teeth into their hide, as he moved shut to the edge of the walkway, ventured down on a metal sewer mesh, and progressed to his focused on destination in moderate and precise steps.

He was so resolved to cross the road, blue eyes on fire and bolted on the neighboring building, that he didn't discharge a wad of gum was smirched on the asphalt, his metal paw all of a sudden got to be stuck down, and he couldn't move for a moment all it took was one second to gaze at a couple of blinding headlights reflecting into his augmented dark understudies, and he was solidified the man who had been prepared to challenge feelings was caught in apprehension. The car was driving quicker, and he didn't have enough to respond. He was going to pass on. They were going to die.

Screeching resoundingly, Bucky yanked his body fiercely, heart was beating quickly and rib bones pushed against his slim bulk, he was gazed eagerly with dismay at the car, some stupid driver revving their motor and venturing on the gas with two young ladies spruced up was witches snickering and mishandling over the seats-blood had begun to turn frosty and ears flatted against the back of his skull. Bucky could feel his body moving, however the world appeared to turn gradually as the car was about to hit him dead on. He would be a stain of fur and smashed bones in the street.

"NO!"

The tires shrieked.

Bucky hammered his eyes close, and grasped for contact with the front tire. He recognized what was desiring him next.

"I got you..."

All of a sudden in a glimmer of light, a pair of huge hands scooped him off the ground, clustered his trembling body in covering of a coat.

Bucky listened to the sound of feet smacking off the smooth asphalt, his blue eyes clearing down, as everything smudged in his vision, the kittens were gentlly put in an other hand of his rescuer, and through the hysterical thralls emitting in his body, he figured out how to lift his confused look up, and gaze into profound, and capable gem cobalt eyes, they were filled with trust, warmth and anguish.

He was encompassed by warmth, shield by strong heart that beat against his ears, and wrapped by memories of his past-it appeared dreamlike for him to try and span, in notwithstanding of everything that he charmed in the brief time of time, he at long last shut his eyes and murmured out a name that drove trust again into his censured body, "I know you.." He moaned wretchedly.

"It's alright," Steve whispered in a delicate voice, his sharp, etched jaw line held as he shot an exceptional, merciless frown at the vehicle speeding past him. Holding the feline in a nest of his arm, he delicately put the female and the male in particular pockets of his coat. His hand daintily touched over the drenched fur, facilitating the pressure as Bucky's blue eyes gradually diminished and his face rested over the sleeve. The super-solider pressed his lips into a feeble grin, listening to the feline murmur in satisfaction.

"You're safe with me," Steve guaranteed, stroking his fingers along the feline's back, it had been quite a while since he held a stray in his arms, it felt like a lifetime to him. Murmuring profoundly, he took a look at the damaged fur and slim railed body, and solidified his lips into a light frown. He settled on his choice instant, "You're coming home with me," he whispered, narrowing his chill blue eyes off at the meek cats. "All of you..."

"Home," Bucky rehashed delicately, shutting his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Greatest Price**

**{5}**

* * *

Under the faint light of the bed side light, Bucky sat on the edge of the bed and staring at Steve's hand unknowingly run warmth over the mewing cats doused and smooth bodies, delicate strokes; gradually facilitating the strain entering slowly through their little bodies.

The little female tilted her head against the super-officer's expansive arm, murmuring cheerily, shutting her cold blue eyes as she gradually floated into a tranquil sleep.

Narrowing his head, Bucky looked down at his paws, disdain sizzled in his veins. He snapped his penetrating look up and gazed eagerly at Steve.

"Who are you?" he whispered modest; attempting to gather the smashed parts of his harmed past.

After at long last checking his new surroundings with efficient figuring; the coal black furred feline stalked to the pillow, his steps deliberate and quieted, as he neared the irregularity tucked underneath collapsed covers, delving his claws into the material, getting closer.

He brought down his slim body close to the mount of pillows, his tail affecting and he viewed the super-soldier with a premonition gaze. Steve looked so content when he rested; his short blonde hair messily unsettled and spiked, his eyelids shut, fixing the staggering, and effective cobalt irises underneath, however a repressed scowl hung unbendingly on his lips. His chest was carved with weak scars of past fights, and his heart thumped was solid with every beating heartbeat. The ascent and fall of Steve's midsection coordinated every breath that ghosted over the soldier;s lips. Hush waited in the obscurity of the room.

The dark feline solidified directly; he attempted to nudge his thoughts to mindfulness. It was secured in the tangled weaves of HYDRA.

"I know you," He suppressed out with a weak breath; his blue eyes had become inaccessible. Gulping, Bucky opened his small gag, constraining the grave expressions of memory to escape from his stoped up throat. Everything crackled in his vocal ropes, and he battled against the tightening hold that banished his voice and took a discharged a shakily breathe out. His breathing abbreviated. The sheets stirred underneath his paws as he pulled himself closer and confronted Steve, blurrily checking his face more than a face that haunted him.

_Disarray. He felt the urges of control swell in his veins; metal beat savagely more than a face. Red blurred his vision and blood spread his lips; outrage touched off as he smashed his knuckles into an in number jawline, scarping the skin and leaving his imprint on the substance of his central goal._

_In one part of a second, he flickered and risked a look down at the battered face of the man underneath him; gazing into dim cobalt eyes filled with seething anguish and regret. He whitened an inch back, his wild chestnut strands surging against his stamped up face, and exceptional blue eyes watering as he met the profound look of a companion._

_His heart crashed to a stop in his midsection, fierceness fumed out of him, and his genuine hand grasped over the star in the middle of the fighter's regal blue uniform. His hand was over the other man's heart, and he realized that he needed to feel the pulsated; and declined to end the beat moving with his fingers._

_Tearing his eyes away, he took in the sickening smell of blood, steel and slag. It was a war zone by and by, and he was caught on the cutting edges with his skipper. Valor entered him, and he hung on tight to the uniform, securing his arm over the blurring body._

_Taking in profoundly, he simply gazed, tears taped in his eyes and memories reemerged. "I...I knew you..."_

Shaking his head, Bucky looked relentlessly at the vindicator, clear and stupified, and a bleak scowl crawled over his face, in spite of the way that he had leftovers of his past coated over his cruel eyes, dulling and watery into something that swelled with anguish and kept him at an impasse. A flicker and a tear showered over his smooth hide, soaking over the bend of his gag. He couldn't contain his feelings. An alternate squint, and something activated in his mind that joined with his infiltrating eyes.

Bucky frowned at Steve with reason. A last flicker and he floated out the insanity, breathing in drowsily, yet not gazing long at the man, he would not like to have faith in trust right now. Trust wasn't his life line to handle the opportunity. He lost all glow of mankind years before when he went under the ice and got to be reborn as the Winter Soldier. Rather he moved marginally back, and torqued his eyes away.

"I know you can't remember me...I'm not a human any longer," his voice dragged out with an indifferent tone, and he hung his head low, grasping his eyelids close. He whined delicately, lifting his metal paw up and cinching it over his mouth; attempting to stop the circumspect mewls of agony he was making. He recalled the agonizing encounters in the Red Room that decayed him into a weapon. He sounded broken. "I never was human."

He kept his blue eyes solidly on the sleeping little cats; sensing a recognizable and overlooked vicinity protecting them.

Shutting his eyes, Bucky felt his psyche floating over into the void. He turned into a hostage to the looks of his past.

He felt the tears escape from his eyes before he endeavored to stop them. Pictures gleamed into his psyche, holding him until he could no more battle the solid hold that bolted him into a fissure of his bothered past, abandoning him to gaze at the dim light...

_Disappointment._

_Debilitated blood dribbled over his sanctuaries. The edge of a blade rested on the beating skin; likely cutting over the bargained wounds and old scars, unleashed more watery maroon._

_Chilly hands grasped over his neck; constraining him to witness an unspeakable repulsiveness of the abuse of humanity. She was lovely, shacked to a metal seat, her ivory skin damaged with ruby droplets getting away from the open wounds. Her long brilliant chestnut hair tangled and tangled, full lips a pale shading of rose and her eyes-the windows of her insubordinate soul were obscured with light wounding. She fizzled her central goal and was constrained by malevolence to withstand a bone desensitizing torment._

_Bucky gazed at her, tears blinding and admonishing his eyes, his vision was stuck on the surgical instruments proficiently set on the highest point of a rusted metal cart._

_"Leave her alone!' _he thundered out his dissenting cries, whipping against the steel limits hooked over his uncovered and bloodied torso. "It wasn't her fault. She finished her mission!

"_He lifted his trembling flesh hand up, attempting to reach for her. "Anna," he yelled breathlessly, shearing his throat with heat._

_She took a gazed at him; vacancy welled in her obscuring eyes. He saw no light._

_"She is no more your worry, boy." An evil German voice reverberated in the infringing shadows of the room; overwhelming strides resounded against the bond floor. Bucky dropped his look and reluctantly gazed at a couple of smooth dark leather boots, splendidly mounted with both heels touching. A gloved hand stroked over the young lady's shaking shoulder, and yanked the thick ringlets and snapped her head back._

_"She doesn't deserve this!" __Bucky managed to motion his metal hand to disheveled woman sitting laden in the chair. __"Make me feel the pain...Not her..." he gasped out in overwhelming breaths; his blue eyes never left her withered face as he viewed the lines of blood streak over her full lips._

_The more established man gave a little and cruel snicker for his reaction._

_"Do you contemplate her life, asset?" he doubted Bucky, his overwhelming dark eyes meandered over the beaten warrior. "She is only an insignificant thing that can without much of a stretch be broken and pulverized with a basic flick of a switch."_

_"No..." Bucky said emphatically dryly, endeavoring to break free from his unbreakable restrictions. He gritted his teeth; making the blue in his irises transform into an incensed white. ""I failed the mission...It wasn't her...LET HER GO!"_

_He kept away from his captor's look._

_"She fits belongs to HYDRA."_

_Bucky shook his head, "She belongs to nobody." he answered, snugness structured in his jaw._

_The more seasoned man shrugged. "Human feelings won't go on without serious consequences for HYDRA. I will permit you to watch her shout and after that you will be put on ice."_

_He strolled over to the disobedient warrior, and immediately with no dithering slapped the young man into the face; blood poured out and spilled to the floor._

_Bucky strangled out hack as shoulder length strands fell laden into his shimmering blue eyes. Red recolored his capable jawline and the bend of his lips was butchered into an insult frown. He figured out how to whisper out the name of the woma that touched his stone frosty heart. His accomplice and stay out of the careless torments, "Anna..."_

_He was compelled to watch her yank in the seat as the electronic stuns tore through her bones and her shouts passed on with each heartbeat of prompted into her __induced into her lithe frame. His heart was racing and metal hand clenched until her head dropped to her chest and body became still._

Settling his eyes on the troubled and shattered young man, _ the leader placed his gloved hand on Anna's shoulder, and cracked an emphatic smirk over his wrinkled face. "Her body will serve better use for HYDRA...She will benefit greatly for our future. I will get to hold her heart in my hand." he snarled out coldly, not removing his gaze away from Bucky. _ He savored viewing the youthful Russian professional killer become degraded into a fussing and wretched sack of fragile living creature and bones.

Gazing profoundly at her, Bucky fixed his eyes and permitted the tears to streak over his cheeks, his feelings floundering and heart s

_Not long after he was discharged from the chamber and took off alone with her motionless body on a restorative, he put his metal hand affectionately over her delicate cheeks, and looked down at her. He limited his head down, resting it on her temple, feeling the coldness burn his skin and he brushed the glow of his lips over her mouth, holding a kiss there and letting his feelings pour out of him. _

_"I would do anything to have you back," he whispered, his lips trembling over hers, and his fells feel into her long hair. He pulled her make a beeline for his midsection, enveloping his genuine hand on her cheek, resting her face over the muscle covering his heart. "Would you be able to hear that, Anna?' he talked in a breaking voice, his eyes shutting. "You discovered my heart and I lost yours_..."

_When he at last broke his last kiss, he vanished into the shadows of winter, abandoning her settled. He didn't turn around; he continued strolling, not sensing a vicinity shrouding over the body. He didn't hear the words of a chant phantom over Anna. He didn't watch her beauty fade into a dark manifestation of a degraded beast that called out desperately to him, saying the words of truth before she was snatched and taken away._

He shocked up and about, sticking to the folds of turned sheets with his hooks stuck into the sleeping pad. Fatigued, Bucky immediately perused over the room, breathing out hysterically. He had about tumbled off the edge of the bunk amid his bad dream, his ears rested level and dark hide raised as his rib enclosures fixed.

He could recollect each point of interest of it. It was amid a frosty December, a HYDRA base in Russia. He had experienced passionate feelings for a youthful specialists named Anna. She never provided for him her surname. They were accomplices for incognito missions and KGB expert sharpshooters; he prepared her, broke a couple of ribs and imparted a shrouded relationship to her amid their missions. A nark in their operation figured out how to squeal on their mystery and soon after she was ended and her remains were unrecoverable. He had overlooked her, they expelled her from his thoughts and supplanted those memories with static.

Bringing down his head, Bucky crushed the tears from his eyes, not realizing that one of the little kittens was cuddled against him.

Frightened, he turned his head and gazed at the female, purring against his side, brushing her face against him.

His nose crinkled as he breathed in the smell wavering off of her little body; an emanation that supplanted his torment with a sudden solace. She had the aroma of lavender and ginger on her fur.

"It's okay...I'm here." Bucky whispered, blue eyes glimmering and he rose off the covers, and lifted her up, utilizing his teeth as snares to accumulate the kitten's fur, and moved to one of the pillows, and tenderly settled her down, between his paws. He took a look at the little piece of fur, and he recognized a cocoa hide on her head when she tilted her head up and she gazed at her with huge blue eyes, murmuring happily.

He prodded her delicately with his muzzle, providing for her a quick lick with his pink tongue, and afterward he altered his defensive eyes back on Steve.

* * *

Some place inside the city, a little dark feline sat on the ledge of an emergency exit; her golden eyes gazed at the streaks of moonlight puncturing through the hazy mists. She was anxious, alone and lamenting. Noiselessly, she sobbed, looking in the dimness of the back road route for something valuable to her.

"James..."


	6. Chapter 6

**Greatest Price**

**{6}**

* * *

The following morning Steve arose from a substance dream; no dark circles hung under his gem blue eyes.

He rapidly diverted the sheets from his solid body, permitting the fresh fall breeze to facilitate the hot warmth, and he extended and rose from the mattress, he sat on the edge of the bedding, shutting his eyes and imaging the tears falling over his solidified cheeks that minute he viewed the metal rail snap and listened to the echoes of his kindred spirit shouting to his passing.

He needed to eradicate all the terrible torrents of his tormenting bad dreams that rehashed in his psyche again and again until his heart throbbed, however it never profited despite the fact that he needed the agony and throbbing to last against his rib confine. He generally felt a steady and sentencing indication of his disappointments to spare Bucky.

Breathing in, profoundly, Steve dialed down body on the mattress and stalled lazy over the frosty floorboards; the red and light pink of day break reflected over his etched muscles and he pressed the uncovered planes of his back against the door jamb; his expectation blue eyes gazed at the dark feline twisted into a ball with the two cats murmuring against his thin casing. Flickering the deary exhaustion out of his eyes, he wrinkled his eyebrows and got a look of silver shining in the shafts of light spilling from the blinds.

He felt something other than what's expected, a feeling of past peace that shaken through his bones; it practically felt like Bucky was in the room.

"Where are you, Buck?" he whispered, feeling his heart twitched in his midsection. He settled his hand straight on the entryway, and gripped his jaw. "Maybe I'm not looking hard enough or maybe you don't want me to find you." He released out a tormented breath and gazed drearily at the stray feline. Steve viewed the male cat, listened to a weak murmur of trouble take after the chills. The urge to stroll over and lift the feline developed solid as his grave face brought down. At that point, the black cat cracked out his blue eyes simply enough to catch a light emission. "Good morning" he tended to the feline in a delicate and charming tone.

Bucky yawned, crinkling his gag and uncovering his sharp needle point teeth. He curved his go down and stretchered out his paws. He gazed toward Steve, frowning at the super-officer with chilly blue eyes, hunting down motivation to trust him. When he sensed no threat, the feline looked at Steve suspiciously. "Why are you showing kindness to me?" he meowed, his voice dry against his throat. "I can sense that you are not danger...but regardless I still don't trust you."

Steve crawled closer in speculative ventures to the room, "Do you need some breakfast?"

Bucky whitened back, his muscles bumped. "No," he murmured out resolutely, scolding at Steve; notwithstanding the way that his stomach was protesting for food. He tore his puncturing gaze away, and proceeded in a bad tempered voice, "I don't need your food. I don't need anything from you..."

"I'm not going to hurt you," Steve talked in a unimposing voice, signaling his hand out. Bucky inclined in forward, careful and sniff his scent.

Snarling up his throat, Bucky pulled himself back, deliberately keeping away from the kittens sleeping in the folds of sheets behind him. His nose crinkled at the commonplace scent; it was unusual but common to him. He straightened his posture, tucked his tail against his rear legs and sat down glaring up at Steve. "I know you..." he stopped in his words, meandering his eyes around his new surroundings. He mapped out all the way out focuses in his brain. Naturally he reviewed over the decorations of the huge room and the void. It was dull and cool.

"You really live like this?" the feline talked in an emotionless tone; he attempted to sound human, however all that got away from his modest mouth was an irritating yowling clamor. He turned back and took a glare at Steve, feeling rumpled, sensing the hopelessness the super-soldier was covering up.

"I figure they belong with you?" Steve asked, motioning his hand at the kittens.

Bucky shook his head noiselessly and watched out a Steve with his haunted blue eyes.

"Do you need some milk?" He offered, attempting to create trust between the stoic feline. "I know the stays back in Brooklyn appreciated a bowl," a lively smile traversed his lips, "Bucky constantly despised it when I use to feed the strays ...He never truly loved cats that much...Always called them useless for nothin' fleabags."

Bucky feigned exacerbation.

"Uhh..." Steve murmured in thought for a long minute. "I have a container of milk in the refrigerator; I can fix you up a bowl if you like?"

The indoctrinated, transformed assassin mutely shook his head. He was ill-equipped to the empathy Steve provided for him; sulking daintily, he jumped off the bed and slipped underneath the mattress frame. He was encompassed by obscurity and dust. It was discouraging. That is the thing that it felt to him; unimportant sections of memory skimmed through his brain, in the same way as chips of ice falling into snow, perplexity kept the rest non-existent. It was just in the minute, when he turned his head and hot a glare rat the bunch of dusty and overlooked picture frames of something that activated memory once more into him; and the smoky murkiness that settled in his brain, broke up as his metal paw touched metal casing, and slid it out from the heap.

It was old, glass split at the edges, however everything appeared in place.

Moaning, Bucky moved his paw over the glass, and gazed at the highly contrasting photo with abhorred swelling in him. The photograph was a young man, early twenties, with Irish intermixed in his attractive features. He had a strong and wide jaw, thick dark hair that was brushed splendidly to one side. His full lips held a naughty and brilliant grin. The characterizing features was his grayish blue eyes that coordinated his dim blue winter coat. The Howling Commando uniform.

Bucky eyes solidified and he fussed with doubt as he gazed at the picture of himself-Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes in bewilderment. He pulled back, heart began to race and tears spilled from his eyes.

"No..." He cried, attempting to drive out his distresses. He stepped back an alternate inch, and kept his watery, lost eyes bolted on the photograph. "That is me...I'm James Barnes..."

He took in the dust, and after that darted out of his concealing spot, and moved to the inside of the room. His tail straightened indignantly and he glared up hazardously at Steve. He dug his claws begrudgingly into the wood, letting the metal scratch.

Steve contracted his eyes at the goaded feline has he supported the cats in the convict of his expansive arms.

"So its true...I'm James Barnes..." The feline howled in a strained whimper, gazing up at Steve with misery and regret welled agonizingly in his overwhelming blue eyes.

He realized that Steve couldn't comprehend him. Somewhere down in the pit of his empty stomach, Bucky made sense of that he needed to discover and attempt an alternate approach to reach his closest friend

"Steve...Help me..."


	7. Chapter 7

**Greatest Price**

**{7}**

* * *

"Hey," Bucky murmured out uncontrollably, his dull understudies got to be openings in the stormy blue of his eyes. He felt tension claw it's away from his churning stomach and thumping heart. His tail swayed against the floor roughly, and ears separated out as he fumed his displeasure at Steve.

"Are you actually listening to me?" he settled his dangerous frown on the unmade bed. He needed to challenge, battle and flee. It was in his inclination to vanish before his feelings were uncovered. Rather, he protested under his breath, and kept a sudden outright stillness to his shuddering body. He gently murmured as the icy nibble of the unwavering truth surged in his bones, entering deep into the marrow. His metallic paw shrieked against the wood, and he felt the urge of assault.

He moved his eyes efficiently, around the faint shadows of the room, attempting to accumulate the smashed and disconnected pieces of memory, which wasn't simple for him since waves of dangerous static heartbeat against his skull.

Finding, that he was James Buchanan Barnes wasn't a basic thing to handle, not when blood recolored his record. It was unsettling to felt like he had been completing his missions as a careless husk, permitting HYDRA to eat up his spirit and turn him rabid.

It was denouncing, unfeeling and tweaking to realize that he squandered the greater part of his imperativeness in an assemblage of an evil entity made by Armin Zola. He would not like to have all his feelings pour out of him, he felt shell stunned and debased as his solidify look wandered over the long, thin connection that crawled from his posterior. He had experience loathings in the Red Room, subornation, infusions, battle preparing and ice showers. Every one was still scratched on his bones, saturating his chilly veins.

"You're a real bit of work," Bucky despondent out with an unstable breath, he turned around and stalked over to a seat, taking a gaze at the regal blue uniform and helmet. His paw enveloped over the material, and he attempted to utilize his teeth to drag the uniform to the floor. He cocked his head up and looked eagerly at the golden haired super-soldier with an inauspicious glimmer in his exceptional blue eyes.

"Now, listen up, Steve Rogers...or whoever you are...I think its Steve..." he made a sound as if to speak and solidified his muzzle.

His voice got to be skeptical and his eyes darkened with solidified regret. "I'm not an stupid alley cat...I'm a skilled and dangerous assassin...and if you stand in my way...I will kill you." He discharged out, darkly, swallowing any weakness that had undermined to escape from his throat.

Looking down at the garrulous cat; Steve wrinkled his eyebrows, disarray got to be composed on his etched face. His blue eyes wrinkled into openings. The feline gazed at him, annoyed by the sudden shroud of bitterness hooding over the precious stone irises.

"What's the matter with you?"

Bucky felt his body was thrashing from a barrier stance. "James Barnes? That is my name isn't it?" He asked obtusely; his face empty from articulation and blue eyes scared.

"I'm the soldier in that picture? You're my friend...Steve Rogers?" he whispered lifting his weepy eyes to Steve-the debilitated kid who'd respected him as a major and defensive sibling back in Brooklyn-back when regardless they had dreams rather than bad dreams. He gazed deep and hard. The delicate blue eyes that were once filled with warm and trust had blurred into a dinky dim of melancholy. He bowed his head, and gripped his eyes close. "The old hag said that a true friend will save me...change me back into a man. In what capacity would you be able to save me...You don't even know who I am?"

Sensing the feline's misery, Steve crouched down to his knees, and held out his hand. "I know you feel like you can't trust me, but if you don't eat you'll die." he spoke grimly, trying to reach out to the stubborn animal. "Please, let me a chance help you?"

Bucky tilted his head upwards; he moved circumspectly to the monstrous hand, his nose jerked as he stayed away, and after that he ventured an inch closer. When he felt the glow touch over his smooth fur, he angled his back and purred soundlessly, stroking his body against Steve's harsh palm.

"There you go, buddy. You're an stubborn cat, aren't ya?," Steve laughed rather in melancholic tone, his fingers brushed likely over the short midnight hide. "I think you need a name?" he said, narrowing his eyes down at the murmuring feline.

The transformed Winter Soldier shook his head gradually, declining to have a name. "I don't deserve a name. Just call the kids whatever you want and leave me nameless..." he repelled in scorn, and afterward meandered back to the bed, creeping underneath the course of covers and he looked down at the photo again and utilized his paws to lock over the casing, dragging it over the floor and once more into the daylight. He meowed resoundingly, calming Steve to look his direction, and put his paw on the glass encased over the picture of himself.

Confounded, Steve wrinkled his eyebrows and automatically gazed down at the photo of his best friend with purpose blue eyes. "Where did you get that?" he asked his breath covering as he tweaked his look away, and grasped his jaw vigorously.

The super-soldier backed off the floor, and propelled closer to the bedside, with a bleak articulation composed over his face. He squatted down by the feline, settling the kittens to the floor, and moved his hand shakily to the edge.

"His name is James Buchanan Barnes," he stifled out supposing it was absolutely strangely chatting with a creature that gave people frosty and burning glares. For reasons unknown, he felt open to conversing with the feline. His heart started to fix against his rib confine. A couple of tears ran consistently down his cheeks and dropped over the picture frame. "Bucky was my best friend -a kindred spirit who dependably had been there for me ...watching my back and and showing me the ropes. We made a promise-that no matter what happened we would be there for each other until the end of the line..." he halted in his words, feeling little throbs enter inside his heart.

The feline's ears straightened up as Steve's made voice reverberated in him extremely upset, "...until the end of the line?" he whispered unfortunately to himself, attempting to swallow the spit blended with fur that covered over his tongue. He opened his mouth, however everything he could assemble up from the profundities of his throat was a tormented whimper. He never felt excessively woeful, futile and detained.

He held his eye contact on Steve, his heart pulsating once, then twice. He turned away, and bounced unceremoniously onto the bunk, failing Steve. His ghostly blue abysses fell on the window sheet. Dropping himself down, he crossed his paws hidden to his narrowed chest, feeling the sickening and heart-wrenching memories lure him back into a void.

_When are you gonna to quit... Acting like you've got nothin' left to lose?"_

_Steve hang and swiped his fragile hand underneath his pointed nose, spreading the warm maroon over the curve of his lips. "I wasn't anticipating on running, Buck."_

_Bucky felt his lips solidified, shaking his head. Taking a look at the wound shading over his friend's powder-colored skin, he walked around the bend of the back road pompously, with an unbending smile on his etched face whilst and looking down at Steve lying on the ground concealed in soil and blood. Lighting a cigarette, he breathed in the ashy smoke, and after that he ventured closer to the brilliant haired young person. He didn't say anything. He held out his hand and lifted Steve up and threw an expansive arm over the other kid's hard shoulders, completing him of the empty back street and away to security._

_Steve wheezed, tasting the drops of blood move over his lips, "One day Buck, I will make those jerks run from me..." he gritted his teeth, recoloring his companion's shirt with red as he included, "...I will show them not to mess the little guy.""_

_"Oh really, Stevie," _ Bucky smiled, his steel blue eyes lightened as he yanked Steve warmly against his side. "How are you planning to put those jerks on the ropes? You're a shrimp," he deviated, pressing his lips tight. Steve leveled a hard scowl at him.

_"Okay, I'll admit that was harsh. What I'm tryin' to say punk, is that you don't need to prove your strength...You're already strong." He pressed his finger carefully into Steve's chest. "A little stupid...but strong." he said with a _brazen grin, attempting to light up his sad companion up.

Steve shook his head, bending his lips into his boyish disproportionate grin, and breathed out, "Bucky would you say you are drunk?"

"Not yet I am not," Bucky answered with a resentful and blunt voice, as yet smiling.

Bucky gradually spun his head, and gazed up at his deep rooted friend. "I never intended to do those things to you, Steve," he admitted in a grieved voice, and frowned to himself. "If I am the real Bucky Barnes..." he permitted his voice to amass in the air, and hung his head low before concluding. "I don't deserve to have you has my friend. Not after what I did to you."

He shuffled his feline body to the edge of the bed, preparing to jump, the cursive words of HYDRA reemerged in his skull, pounding and making him feel dizzy. He needed to run. Shifting his gaze to the window, he found his exit and made a graceful jump off the mattress, only to be secured in Steve's arms. He "No..." hé hissed, slashing in paw into the air. "Steve...Forget about me..."

Steve moved his fingers along the feline's tensed back, "Bucky," he said with a crackling voice, tears pricked his eyes, as he looked at the feline trembling against his midsection. His heart swelled as he viewed the feline open his icy blue circles and recognized a weak streak of chestnut in the middle of the ears.

It wasn't until he gazed at the left frontal appendage of the creature, and he found the minor red star painted on the metal plates. Something felt natural about this stray. "Your name is Bucky. And you do have a home.."


	8. Chapter 8

**Greatest Price**

**{8}**

* * *

In was very nearly arriving at the midnight hour, when Steve came back from StarkTower, stripping his dark shirt up and tossing it into the closet. He didn't try flicking on the lights, he moved closer to the bed nostalgically gazing at the dark feline twisted into a ball in the folds of sheets. A slight clue of a frown hidden over his lips, and moved his look to the window, gazing eagerly at the white circle in the obscured sky, approaching over high rises It was a titan canvas, the lights and dark slate coordinated each shade of the haziness, a thousand gems grouped into clouded shapes.

Feeling the dull hurt emerge in his midsection, Steve tore his gem blue embers far from the window, attempting to search for something to help him evade from slipping over into the void. His brain meandered somewhere else. He was entering the cervices of his memory pools, arriving at an impasse of domain that held past pictures of Bucky grinning and giggling beside him, and teasing him about his radiant suit. Those were great memories to clutch, and never permit to stray away in tears that moved down his sharp cheekbones, and advised him that he had fizzled his kindred spirit. His family and the individual he had missed for a long time in the ice abysses of water and haziness.

_"I bet I can get you grin, Stevie," Bucky sneered, remaining to his closest friend. His face was scruffy. He chestnut hair slicked back off his brow and light blue eyes sparkling with loving affection. He bended the edges of his full lips into an insidious smile, and afterward turned to take a gander at Steve who was standing all glorious and genuine for the reel cam. _

_"You know, little Stevie was always the punk the fat Dalantey kids loved picking on, he used to come to my ma's house all bloodied and ugly with bruises, but for some reason, he was always okay to crack a smile."_

_Bucky connected a hand and grasped Steve's shoulder, solidly, __"So yeah, this super soldier or whatever you guys call him, smiles through his pain. He looked at the young captain with an sincere gleam in his eyes. "No matter how much the big guys have him on the ropes...He will always find a away to crack a smile." And then, with a faint chuckle escaping his lips, he listened to Steve laugh and watched him smile for the cam. "To you folks back home, this here is my best friend ...Sometimes he acts stupid, but he has a big heart and I will never replace that for anything."_

_"Do you know how stupid you sound, Buck?" Steve smiled, giggling generous. His eyes squinted as them two abruptly entered a furor of giggling._

_"At least I'm wearing the American banner, Rogers," Bucky retorted back, dropping his head, and trying to contain his jolts of laughter. "I'll admit it's a good look for you..."_

_Steve gestured, "Yeah" he laughed, "I'm glad you think so, Barnes, because I've got a spare for you to try on back at camp."_

_"Oh, joy, that will make us the __ star-radiant twins..."_

_Steve grinned. He couldn't help it._

* * *

The memory had calmed him over into a fantasy like condition of the happiness he required. A smother of a grin tugged over his lips, as he permitted giggling to replay in his psyche for a long snippet of rehashes.

He recalled how Bucky now and again grunted when he chuckled, as yet keeping a priggish smile on his etched face whilst he had been remaining close SSR home base all sweaty and uniform torn. Barnes had set his minding hand on his shoulder looking deeply in his eyes with a glad glimmer shimmering in his light blue irises, grinning like a bonehead and facilitating the pressure of the war around them. That had been the day he freed the 107th soldiers from Zola's coldhearted work camps-he was one who severed the restrictions of a confused and caught Bucky Barnes, and guided him to safety.

Everything disintegrated into pieces when he recalled the halcyon days, pictures he attempted to delete, the repulsions on combat zones with youthful men, honorable in soul lying on the wet ground with their countenances forever solidified after slugs infiltrated through their souls. Pulverization and seething remainders of structures, crossfires of adversary shells gleaming in the obscured sky, lightening up the forefronts.

War turned into a suicide mission. It was offering your own soul, and permitting mankind to disappear. At first there was unbreakable valor and resistance carved on the hearts of young man in uniform. After a couple of treks over the infertile wreckage of No Man's Land, slithering underneath point wire, and listening to the stunning repercussions of Tiger I tanks unleash their anger and pulverization over the empty scene of attacked fields and residential areas.

Their general surroundings turned into a dim and unforgiving. Coldness entered through their bones, trust dwindled when hearts of companions and kindred spirits were loaded with lead and the scene with painted with spilled blood that left from the great men of honor.

The eager ground conveyed the blood of the fallen, permitting every drop to go through the fields. The emanation of death hung noticeable all around like a thick fog more than a marsh, a steady indication of the expense of triumph and annihilation. There was no departure from the inescapable. No feeling of reason and no plan to battle for when the projectiles slice through the knolls like blades.

Resonances of military aircraft, overwhelming associated planes of the RAF crashing, men shouting out for their mom's names and souls blurring were the every day tolls to wake up to amid the morning hours.

He couldn't shut out the solidified truth of the grievances war engraved onto his heart.

_His damaged hand was only out of achieve, a simple few centimeters away. Everything he needed was a pulse to provide for him quality to make it before...Metal shrieked and severed the pivots. _

_Bucky plunged in a second of a look. Time solidified and tears prepared to stream as a sob got away from Steve's lips. His companion vanished into a frigid valley beneath with a bloodcurdling shout of apprehension and repulsiveness. _

_His heart crashed to a stop and after that dropped. _

_His general surroundings smashed and blurred into whiteness. _

Panting for substantial admissions of air, Steve felt his stomach grasp and his beating heart fixing his midsection, his breathing stopped to exist in his lungs, and his knees surrendered, colliding with the hardwood. He brought down his face into his expansive warm hands; concealing his eyes and delving his fingers into his brow.

Steve attempted to delete the horrific picture of his friend tumbling off the train and swallowing in the ice, however the memory was tireless and strong, and wouldn't provide for him a bit of peace. Again and again, the scene played itself in his mind. He gritted his teeth, sufficiently hard to make his gums shiver with deadness, longing that everything would all simply stop. He needed to erase the memories crazy everlastingly, the blame of his disappointment and pessimism. The memories and the emotions stayed, tormenting him perpetually.

That ear shattering cry as Bucky fell frequented him in the profundities of his subliminal and there was nobody there to put a hand on his shoulder, nothing to divert him from his bad dreams.

That was his discipline, to grieve for his brother alone in the murkiness, and living with that weight of sorrow encased over his broken heart. It was an inclination of anguish, and very nearly like he had his spirit tore fifty-fifty. He felt torn and fixed.

An excess of evenings he had woken up showered in sickening sweat, trembling and sobbing with his pad splashed with salty tears. He would dependably need to flick on the light and read case records from SHIELD. It was the best way to shut out the pictures from his harrowed personality. He would get up before the break of day and run, permitting the cool wind to whip over his face and stop the tears pricking in his blue eyes.

_You're my mission..._

_S_teve evacuated his hands, gradually off his face, feeling the dampness of his distress assemble in his light cobalt irises, and gazing dim at the composite shield inclined up against the dresser.

It was the exact opposite thing Bucky held before the train auto entryway blasted open and sucked him out into the freezing air.

_You're my mission..._

"No..." He shouted resoundingly and broken, attempting to settle the whirlwind surging in his brain. His throat obstructed, and it had a craving for tightening of the dividers of his crude throat was stifling him, breathing was getting harder and straining to oversee. "BUCKY!"

He beat his clench hands into the wood, in the same way as he was attempting to break the sheets with his solid, mighty hands.

He knew he startled the feline, however held no respect for the cat's emotions. After all the years of holding in his torment and carrying on, he needed to discharge a percentage of the ever-show blame and sorrow. His companion was dead. There was no more Bucky Barnes.

After each one of those heart desensitizing years of spending his days wishing to have him back, he was only a phantom of the youthful trooper and Brooklyn kid he used to be before Zola changed and butchered him into the savage killer customized for fretful assault. A heartless executioner, anonymous and lost behind the similarity of a beast.

"I'm sorry, Buck," he wailed, no more ready to hold in his torment, he couldn't disallow his disheartening to be unhindered out of him.

Listening to the measure of Steve's down and out words, Bucky's eyes snapped open, hazed and befuddled in the obscurity. The puncturing blue irises were a without past agony and comprehension, and a harboring feeling of distinguishment.

Inside after a second, he bounced rapidly off the quaint little inn closer to Steve, careful. Steve was still caught in his dreams, his face solidified with outrage and eyes incensed and recorded with seething tears. He couldn't endure the agony any more, everything had been pouring out of him and he scarcely settled his watery look at the moving dim shape pitching towards him. The dark feline. The stray he spared from turning into a smear of dark fur in the street.

"Steve," Bucky howled, low, however enough to get the super-soldier's consideration. Metal paw lifted and ears straightened aback.

Resting his temple over his knee, Steve cried into the denim of his pants, his lips fixed into a statement of anguish. " "I just want you back, Buck." he sniffled pressing the bridge of his nose into the hardness of muscle. "The real you...James Barnes. Not that killing machine." he said adamantly, biting on his lower lip. He knew it was his fault. Bucky's death and resurrection was his greatest failure, and he would own that like everything else.

He expected to end up strong once more, to not permit annihilation shackle him from his obligations of securing the world. It's not what Barnes' would have needed. "You were dependably there for me, regardless of the amount I put you through, you never left my side. I failed you." He mewled out an alternate frail cry. If only I let go and made the jump. We would have come back home...Back to Brooklyn." He mewled out another weak sob.

All of a sudden, Bucky felt his heart crash to a stop in his chest. He brought his paw to Steve's leg, and held it solidly on the drenched and constricting denim.

"I am here, Stevie," he gradually lifted his frosty blue eyes, eagerly viewing Steve's warmed and sharp cheeks sparkle with tears. "I'm here, well, perhaps not what you expected...It's me in this stupid cat body." he stifled out, feeling warmth he could call his own tears spill from his cat eyes. ""I will always be your friend...I know who am I now, Steve. I know my name and a few other things." His voice was a little hiss. "I am figuring out what those HYDRA jerks have done to me. Why I'm...A cat."

Steve wiped the tears that moved easily down his face and trickled off his lips. He pulled his knees up to his midsection, moving a look at the feline and connected a hand. At first Bucky responded his paws, protectively, however then he permitted his companion to scoop him up from under his tensed paunch.

"Hey, watch the ribs, Cap," he cautioned, commonality now climbed in his voice. He felt Steve support him in the nest of his solid biceps. "Steve...I know you can't understand me, however, I just need you to know that I've missed you so much." It felt ideal for him to say that to the the first avenger.

Steve limited his eyes, listening to the feline delicately murmur. He would not like to exasperate the creature, he attempted to breathe, however everything felt damage. Keeping his look settled on the ball of fur, he felt the feeling of a companion brush over his bones, and he cried. Hotness of agony filled tears fell over Bucky's velvety body as they both shut their eyes, permitting the deepest of torment leak out the fight wounds they kept escaped perspective.


	9. Chapter 9

**Greatest Price**

**{9}**

* * *

Steve flipped to another page of the old album and for what felt like the hundredth time since he started viewing the pictures. He was extended on his couch, as he had been for 60 minutes, looking over a portion of the main substantial memories he had of his companions. One specifically was on his brain.

These photograph collections had been made to respect the majority of the Howling Commandos, however since Bucky had been such a focal figure in the gathering, he showed up in various pictures. Steve looked longingly at a fix of himself remaining with Bucky after a long mission. Them two were completely smudged and even marginally injured, yet they were grinning splendidly. Steve recollected that day; following a week of appalling travel, Bucky had perked him up with amicable mud battle. That arrogant rascal could simply discover somehow of making everything okay.

A tear spilled from the Captain's eyes and he brushed it away rapidly and moved to the following page. Every picture was a valuable bit of time, and in spite of the fact that it hurt Steve's heart to take a gaze at them, it was likewise by one means or another recuperating. If he could have Bucky once more.

_"So let me get this straight, Stevie," Bucky teased, taking another swig from his canteen glaringly, oblivious to the gnawing icy walking over his etched face. He was inclining toward a wall his entire body listed and depleted. His blue eyes held an intense gaze on his friend sitting mindfully upright in a wooden seat, his wide arms collapsed over his uniformed midsection, battling with the measure of bulk choking against his pectorals. He wasn't accustomed to having a bulky group of a current combatant. They were sitting in a safe house, alone in the faint glimmers of waxen candlelight, the canvas of winter turned into a differentiation of light and obscurity as bits of snow begin to tumble from the thick mists floating over the devastated fields encompassing the property. Their weapons were equipped, senses on high alert and spirits defiant Bucky felt his lips jerk upward into a weak simper as he kept his eyes locked on Steve. "You enlisted shortly after I took those dames dancing at the pier?"_

_Steve shrugged his shoulders, indifferently "That was just the a small portion of it, Buck." he replied, gazing toward his astounded companion. After I was enlisted things at first didn't go so well-I was pathetic during training, but I showed them that it wasn't about strength and muscle to fight in a war, it was about having the guts to fight for something to believe in. That is freedom, Buck." he said immovably, his gem blue eyes gleam in the shadows shrouding over his chiseled face._

_Listening to the measure of Steve's words, Bucky felt his heart seize into his midsection, he turned his head, and watch the snow course blankly over the approaching trees outside. He flicked his eyes down, frowning to himself. "I told you not to follow me here, Steve." he said, his deep voice, low and frequented "You always think that you've got something to prove...That you're trying to show the world that Steve Rogers can be a good soldier." He pressed his lips into a tight line, and clenched his hands to his sides. "You know after I left Brooklyn...I sometimes dreamed that when I returned home I would find your grave and you were gone because I wasn't there for you..." he stifled out, and then an onslaught of emotions broke over his face._

_"Bucky, you have always been there for me, you don't need too, " Steve narrowed his eyes for a long moment, and then he got up slowly from the table as he registered the pain hidden beyond the dark haired soldier's pale blue eyes. He felt a heaviness press into his chest, as he extended out his hand, gripping Bucky's tensed shoulder. "You don't need too ever think that you've failed me. You have always been there during the worse and best of times...I thank you for that, Bucky Barnes. Without you watching my back ...There would be no Steve Rogers-No Captain America."_

__"My folks wanted to adopt you after your Ma died, we could have been brothers," Bucky responded, his voice a trembling at the constant and tearing sensation in his chest. He looked distraught and languished like he had been wounded, not moving just standing stoic and waiting for tears to roll down his face. "Now I see we have always been brothers..." He placed his gloved hand over Steve's sturdy armored shoulder. "I will never stop protecting you...I will always be your big and stupid brother."__

_Steve clenched his hands into fists and closed his eyes. Why hadn't he caught Bucky's arm in time? Why did his brother have to fall? Steve felt a burden of guilt on his chest as he thought of all the horrors his friend had endured at the hands of Hydra. All of them could have been prevented if only he had stretched out his arm just a little farther._

"Bucky," he wailed, "I'm too bad. I'm so too bad."

Steve wished more than anything that he could pour out his distress to his friend eye to eye. Yet with the Winter Soldier demonstrating considerably more slippery than Cap had dreaded, Steve ended up getting to be tired of the pursuit. He had vowed to seek after Bucky until his quality fizzled him, however shouldn't we think about after?

Steve's ponderings were interfered with when he felt the cot underneath him move. Turning his look, he saw that the dark feline had nimbly bounced onto the bedding beside him. Some way or another the cat's vicinity was relieving, practically like the organization of a decent companion. Rogers grinned and contacted stroke the feline.

"In a way, you're like your namesake, Bucky," Steve said to the cat as he scratched its shoulders. "You're a good listener and a good comfort."

"No I'm not," Bucky murmured, squashing his needle-point teeth into his fuzzy lips. He felt the weight of Steve's hand push against his angled shoulder bones. He offered no safety, submitting to swoon mindfulness. He listened to the gravity in Steve's words, every breath had gotten to be embellish in his ears, and his blue eyes obscured ever so marginally, attempting to make mental figurings and the amount of blood volume was streaming in his boiling over his veins and coursing hugely through his framework, yet his paws had begun to tremor, and the motivation to lash out an assault blurred when he saved a look into his companion's grave blue eyes, the same shading that made the red flashes vanish from his foggy vision.

As he felt his heart resettle in his midsection, he chose to talk by and by, however his voice appeared obstructed and throat crude as air arrived at his lungs. The surface of his injuries didn't bubble or murmur as he inhaled, and he wasn't reluctant when he gazed up at Steve. Those were great signs that his brain had developed sufficiently stable for his to capacity without his antagonistic nature, he gazed up inactively at the super-officer with disdain, his gag jerked somewhat into a glare as he kept his paws locked on the spreads. His face looked withdrawn, midnight hide rumpled and ears smoothed against his head. He poked against Steve's arm murmuring with despondence ragging up his throat. "I'm not a good friend, Steve." he meowed, attempting to jug Steve's consideration.

The feline's whimpering just about appeared to be so methodical it couldn't be possible be irregular commotions, yet Steve couldn't place why. In fact, it almost seemed like the poor feline was issuing a lament. Steve continued to stroke the cat, letting a long sigh escape his lips. A tiny noise made him look to the part of the room where the kittens were nuzzled together. It appeared that they were waking up, and, Steve thought about whether they were hungry.

I bet you guys could use some food," he said aloud, glancing back at the adult cat near his side. "Does milk sound good?"

Steve stood from the bed and walked across the cool floor to his refrigerator. Inside was a partially full carton of milk, and he placed it on the counter, looking at the black cat in his peripheral vision. It had hopped down from the bed and was stalking cautiously towards him. He smiled and talked to the feline as he located a saucer.

Where did you and your little sidekicks come from, anyway?" he asked, pouring the milk into the small bowl. He set it onto the hard ground near the kittens and then drew out a glass for himself. When his cup of milk was ready, he put away the jug and settled on the floor, crossing his legs and staring at the tiny kittens as they began to move.

The little female wobbled on her delicate paws closer to the soldier. Her nose jerked as she got a dubious whiff of milk, yet she solidified in mid-step, shy and uncertain whether to approach Steve as her purged stomach snarled, making her back curve up somewhat. She meowed, yet it seemed like a cry of pain, and her ears straightened at the same time her spooky sapphire eyes took in the new encompassing. She required her mom, and it in her senses to whimper for aid, she and her twin sibling was just a couple of weeks old, whatever is left of the litter didn't make it due to hazards, and without Bucky as her defender she would have passed on from starvation. As opposed to approaching the dish, she brought down her body, putting both of her frontal paws together and bolted her eyes back at Steve.

"A little skittish, I suppose," Steve mumbled under his breath.

He pressed his hands against the floor and hurried a couple of feet regressive, giving the little cats an unhindered way to the milk. He cast a sidelong look at the dark feline, pondering whether it would come to drink or not. In the event that the cats would not consume all alone, maybe their guardian would influence them. Steve knew by their size that the kittens without a doubt obliged continuous meals, and he hoped that the event in the street had not traumatized them.

Steve took a long drink of the cool drain in his glass and wiped the remaining parts from his lips. He set the glass down, and after that he saw the adult cat was indeed approaching the little kittens and the saucer set out for them. Steve, who noticed small details as a habit, had marveled at the grace with which cats carry themselves, but this strange feline seemed even more meticulous as it stalked across the apartment. Its sharp, perceptive eyes scanned the area, picking up all movement and assessing any sign of danger. The animal's manner was as precise as that of highly trained agent, or perhaps even more accurate than that.

Steve gradually lifted up from his spot and strolled to the table where a pad of paper and pencil lay, having been left there a couple of days back. Coming back to a sitting position on the floor, Steve considered the agile creatures before him and started to portray a drawing of them. Drawing had constantly helped him ease anxiety amid the War, and since he had stirred from the ice, he had discovered the cure no less well-suited.

The drawing slowly took structure as the felines went about their dinner. As Steve had trusted, the older cat gingerly advanceed to the saucer and wheedled the little cats to drink. Steve grinned at the scene before him, including shadow and point of interest with his gifted pencil. At the point when his portrait was done, he remained from his spot and set the cushion of paper back on the table. Turning around, he took gaze at the dark catlike and grimaced.

"I assume you eat meat," he said, strolling over to the fridge

He wasn't certain what sort of meat a feline would like, however he assumed that basically anything would do, particularly for a hungry stray. He scavenged through the drawers and finally discovered some turkey lunch meat. He put the compartment on the counter and took out a blade, cutting the nourishment into little, nibble size pieces. He set these on a plate and brought it down to the floor.

Steve clicked his tongue, attracting the attention of the black cat. "Want some more lunch?" he asked gently.

The entreating words quieted Bucky to chicken his head up, "I'm not eating that," he sneered or rather murmured, curving his back with disdain. "Why do you care about my life?" he doubted, withdrawing his paws out from his hairy digits. He genuinely didn't get it. He despised the very thought about the aggregate sum of lives he crushed while affected by HYDRA's control.

It was a sicking sense to feel such a great amount of blame, to convey agony and battle against replays of bad dreams devouring his incoherent personality. It made his stomach grip and stir. He loathed the prospect of murdering an alternate guiltless without reason, and above all else he despised feeling the heaviness of his wrongdoing dragging his spirit considerably further into the pit of his judgment toward oneself. On the off chance that he could reset time, turn back the clocks and return his past, he would have discovered away to keep Zola from sparing his injured body from extreme hypothermia-he would have kicked the bucket a respectable man and a decent friend. He would have saved such a variety of lives on the off chance that he didn't been restored on the operating table.

"I don't deserve this from you, Steve," Bucky lowered his head, and felt a dull pang in his chest, praying that somehow the super-soldier would hear his broken voice carried with hardened disdain. "You're a good friend...And I'm a monster."

Maybe it was without a doubt that Bucky's supplication to God was heard and replied, or possibly it there was an alternate, obscure power at work in the circumstance. Regardless of what the reason, it now happened that what had once been unintelligible whimpers originating from the dark feline's mouth were presently heard by Steve as genuine, English words. Bucky likewise perceived the change on the double, however for him it was not almost as stunning as it was for his companion.

Steve began up rapidly and looked watchfully around the flat, attempting to discover the genuine wellspring of the voice. His faculties had obviously let him know that the feline had talked, yet his reason had generally as fast rejected such a thought and bungled for an alternate choice. Everything he could expect was that there was a gatecrasher in the room, one who sounding astoundingly like Bucky.

Steve gradually edged to the wall where his shield was propped up, and when he was inside extent, he jumped towards it, getting it from its place and planning for an assault. None came. He filtered each fissure of the premises, yet he could discover nobody; nothing was level strange.

"Who's there?" he asked in a legitimate voice.

He risked a look at the feline, a piece of him still halfway accepting that it had been the one to talk. Staring down at it now and being certain that it was really simply a creature, he thought about how he could have been so effortlessly misdirected by his normally sharp ears. Pretty much as he turned his look somewhere else, the feline talked once more.

"Wait," Bucky drew out a sharp breath, off balanced on his four paws, unsure if Steve visually heard his voice. He understood human emotions, and the kind of grief one carries that piled on their shoulders when they left nothing left to fight for, but he never had to deal with this moment as barriers had been broken the moment he gazed longingly into Steve's gentle, and yet guarded blue eyes. It felt like a strategy for session he had obtained back in the Red Room-target obtaining implied termination,or at any rate giving oneself to the examiner for discipline.

It had been his way of life for almost a decade, and he was safe to agony in any structure not sympathy or fellowship. Quiet has dependably been his asylum , yet now he was arriving at an impasse of feelings and urges to murder. Inside his changed body, Bucky felt his vexation debilitating to leak out, however he stood his ground, solidly and immovable and leveled an insurable scowl at Steve.

Russian didn't move off his sand paper-like tongue-it blurred in his throat. Amid his preparation in the Soviet underground, his instructors just took the time to show him the fundamentals of the dialect, little and definitive words when ordering his agents when in surveillance, yet now his voice changed into rich, brash and American-it turned out unmistakably when he talked, despite the fact that his psyche is still modified to issue out in Russian.

The change provided for him to reuse his old voice-the healthy Brooklyn tone with a slur of Irish. He took a full breath and constrained himself to talk afresh, without the low murmuring clamor of a cat. It wasn't as troublesome not like it was a couple of days before-perhaps his humankind was gradually coming back to him. He needed to take a risk.

"Don't freak out, punk...I mean Steve." He hopped smoothly on the chair and then climbed onto the counter staring at the dumbfounded captain. "I know it's hard for you to understand this, but you need to shut up and listen."

Steve's mouth went dry and his jaw hung open. He didn't comprehend what to think or how to react. The feline was talking. What other clarification could there be? Nobody said the feline was genuine, however it most likely was talking. Steve had never become aware of mechanical creatures, however he gathered that somebody may have designed them at this point. In the event that PCs could fit into one's pocket nowadays, what were the cutoff points?

However crazy and suspicious the circumstance was, Steve couldn't totally decide out the likelihood that this feline was some way or another associated with Bucky, thus he did as the feline said. He quiets down and tuned in. He couldn't hazard harming Bucky, regardless of the possibility that the shots of this cat truly being in any capacity joined with his friend were thin, best case scenario.

"That is better," the black cat said with a chomp in his gravelly voice. He sat on the steel ledge, long tail swaying and pupils obscured as he held Steve's appearance in his overwhelming look.. "I'm not some stupid house cat if that's what you think...I happen to be a remorseful and dangerous assassin who crossed paths with an old hag and somehow I became this fleabag." he grumbled under his breath, lifting up his metal limb, allowing Steve to spare a blank glance at the red star painted on the chrome plates of his left frontal limb. "Look familiar?"

Obviously it looked recognizable. Steve had harped on the picture of Bucky for quite a long time and days, not able to overlook it for long. That arm, now that he contemplated it, looked precisely that the Winter Soldier's arm to the most moment point of interest.

Steve dealt with a gesture, however no words would leave his mouth. His throat appeared bolted up, and he realized that in the event that he attempted to talk, it would turn out as stammering nonsense, so he didn't even attempt. He basically kept his eyes settled on the feline and kept on listening.

"Steve do you know me?" Bucky's voice trailed away. His eyes shut, and he was lost for a long minute, long gone memory developed in his brain, and he declined to gaze at his friend. An insight of a scowl twisted his gag before he stopped to close his tears. Crying, yes, he was crying, feelings disappeared and dribble down his fur. A low and throaty groan thundered out of him. "I want to remember you, there are some sometimes that I have forgotten, but everything else seems like a blur...It feels like my past doesn't exist." he meowed wistfully, and lowered his body, tucking his paws under his stomach, and trembling as his ebony fur became slick with more tears. "I never meant to do those things..."

Steve felt pity and adoration wash over him, and in spite of the fact that he challenged not touch the feline, for on the off chance that it was without a doubt Bucky, he may not respond well to any kind of contact, Steve felt his tongue relaxed from stun. Taking in an unstable breath, he made a sound as if to speak and talked.

"I know you didn't, Buck. HYDRA's requests and the blood that came about because of them stains their own hands, not yours. It wasn't your deficiency."

Steve desperately wanted to ask for more information, specifically about Bucky's current predicament, but he decided against it. Surely the trauma of being a cat was more than enough, and Bucky definitely didn't need someone grilling him about the whole situation. If he wanted to speak of it, he would. Steve looked into the cat's face, trying to see his friend in it and send him comfort without words. As he gazed, he did think he saw Bucky looking out at him from behind the cat's perceptive blue eyes, and he smiled as encouragingly as he could.

"It's going to be okay, Bucky."

"Okay?" Bucky growled as he was shaken out of his stupor by Steve's compassionate words. His hide swarmed and cat muzzle cut into a wild glare. "I'm a stupid cat!"

"Well," Steve said, running his hand through his blond hair and sighing, "you won't be forever. If you were changed into one, we'll just have to change you back. There's got to be a way."

Bucky scorned irritably, "I can think of one," his voice drew darker, and claws spring out. "Put a bullet in the hag's head, and watch her bleed until she reverses this curse or whatever it's called. It's effective and plus it will spare your life..."

"My life?" Steve asked, not able to veil his astonishment. "What have I got to do with it?" Realizing that his tone was bit excessively forceful, Steve brought down his voice and included an extra question. "Does this include me, as well?"

The entire issue was silly and way out of his group, yet Steve still needed to tread painstakingly and in a way deserving of his friend. Regardless of what right Steve needed to frenzy, this wasn't Bucky's fault, as Steve had beforehand said. He expected to work with Bucky on this one, pretty much as they had dependably managed their issues before.

Bucky tore his eyes far from Steve's firm look, and huffed out a baffled murmur. He sensed the sudden misery spinning inside Steve, and the anguish the malleable warrior attempted to stow away. " If we can't discover a way to change me once again into a human...You will wind up like yours really, Steve." he brought up brutally, however it must be said.

Steve's eyes became wide, and he sucked in a breath of stun, yet said nothing. Truth be told, he was quiet for some time, pondering what had transpired. This was a considerable amount to take in, and he had no clue how to move ahead at all. After a couple of minutes in thought, he spun around and strolled over to the table where his telephone was resting. He would never be utilized to this bit of innovation, yet he had figured out how to send a content.

"Bucky, this is past me," he conceded, giving his companion an edgy look. "Would S.H.I.E.L.D. have any intel about how this...transformation could happen? I understand that you may not have any desire to examine this, yet we don't have a great deal of choices. How precisely did this happen? In the event that this witch lady you've said is associated with HYDRA, then there may be some information about her in an old document some place. I have friends that could uncover it."

"No," Bucky immediately responded, jumping off the counter and moving to the table, fast paces until he remained before Steve, he needed to achieve the commander on a genuine level. "I can't be traded off, Steve. In the event that the rebel operatives of HYDRA found that I'm a cat..." He stopped a breath, and stole a look at the dozy cats lapping their tongues in the dish of milk. They were targets. "They won't stop until each stray is dead." he certified, dismally.

Steve realized that he could believe his contacts inside S.H.I.E.L.D., however he chose not to press Bucky on the issue. On the off chance that Bucky was unwilling, then they would discover an alternate arrangement. Steve moaned and set the phone back onto the table. At that point, grabbing a chair in a seat so he was on a level with the feline, he investigated its eyes and argued.

Bucky, I know this is all out of whack, and it's horrible and unjust, but we need all the details we can get so that we can properly examine the facts. Would you please tell me everything that happened? Please? I want to get you back to normal, pal, and I can't do that if I don't even know all that happened in the first place. Maybe if you go over it aloud, we'll notice something you'd missed before, and we can capitalize on it.""

Bucky intensely listened to the measure of immovability in Steve's voice, and felt the incongruity of the circumstance. Though those fretful evenings of couldn't care less for a thin blonde haired kid while he battled against high fevers, diseases and shallow breathing, he was currently the person who required Steve's ensured, and in spite of the fact that he couldn't deny it, he was happy to have his closest companion viewing his back. "I try to remember, but I don't think it will be enough to help you with the details." he sighed evenly, and then looked down at his paws. "I do know the hag or witch worked for HYDRA...She knew me." his voice became soundlessly distant.

"Well," Steve said, giving a smile of encouragement, "that's certainly a start. Perhaps this was their plan all along. We should probably go out and look for this HYDRA witch herself."

The discussion was suddenly decreased off by a progression of noisy howls originating from the cats. Bucky looked over at them and moaned, shaking his head somewhat. Who would have suspected that several little cats could be so much work?

"They require me," he said, bouncing nimbly from the table. He strolled rapidly over where the cats were yowling close to the void saucer. He inhaled their commonplace fragrance and licked each of their temples. "What do you need?" he asked, to some degree bothered.

"Maybe they just need some rest," Steve suggesting, getting up from his chair and coming over to the scene. "Let's go to the bed; they can sleep, and we can talk."

Bucky consented to the consistent proposition, and he snatched the little female by the scruff and started conveying her over the floor. As he did as such, he got an alternate agonizing indication of what he had been decreased to. He close his eyes hard, attempting to overlook what had transpired, however he was mindful so as not to damage the little cat gripped in his jaws.

"Bucky, let me take her," Steve offered, stooping down and gently taking the kitten from Bucky's grasp. In his other hand, he held the little male, who was still letting out a string of discontent moaning. Bucky said nothing out loud, but inside he thanked Steve for his consideration. Steve could not understand what it was like to be a cat, but he at least had the sense and care to try to help.

Bucky leapt to the soft sheets of the bed and sat up, back erect and tail curled around his feet. Steve placed the kittens near to Bucky's side and moved the blankets around them to keep them warm. Then he himself sat on the mattress and waited for Bucky to say something. Looking into the cat's eyes, he saw a struggle, and he felt pity once again stab his heart.

"Bucky," Steve said quietly, "are you alright?"

It was an inept inquiry: Bucky was not okay, and Steve promptly lamenting asking it, yet now it was past the point of no return. Bucky's eyes flashed at him in anguish and fury, and for a minute, Steve thought he may lash out. The feline stayed in its spot, however his back curved and his hide remained on end as he vented his grievance.

"I'm a cat, Steve!" he stifled out. He pointed with his dim paw at his own hairy body. "A useless, dirty creature!"

"No, you're not," Steve quickly and adamantly assured. Bucky turned upward with tear-filled, urgent eyes, simply sitting tight for Steve to attempt to improve it all when he didn't think it conceivable. "You're trapped," Steve proceeded with, "yet we're going to get you back to normal. You're not a cat, Sergeant Barnes! And you're not a weapon either. You are a human being under a curse, and I'm going to reverse it; I promise."

Bucky felt a minor fire of trust glimmer in the profundities of his spirit at Steve's words. The Captain sounded so certain, so beyond any doubt that everything was truly going to turn out right, that Bucky had some major snags doubting him. At that point a sudden memory climbed in his psyche, and he saw Steve again in his past, grasping him. As of now, he longed for that alone.

"Steve," he said gradually, battling through the disarray and trap of HYDRA's molding. "My friend..."

Steve couldn't wait any longer. He reached out his hand and drew Bucky close to his chest, hugging him tightly and forgetting for a moment the cruel fate that had befallen his friend. The only moment that he let his mind return to the present was when he felt the nudge of a kitten's nose on his leg. The two baby cats had snuggled up by his side, almost as if they sensed the closeness of the brothers.

Bucky closed his eyes and let all thoughts of his condition fade away as he felt the warmth of Steve's solid shoulder against him.

At this moment, he truly believed that all the wounds of HYDRA would be washed and cleaned in time, and perhaps he could really be Bucky Barnes again. Steve's friend.

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**A big thank you to my co-writer Thalion Estel who did wonders in this chapter. Team work makes writing so much more fun, and I couldn't have done this chapter without her. Thank you to all my readers and followers. I hope everyone has a blessed and merry Christmas. Enjoy the season.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Greatest Price**

**{Chapter 10}**

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Bucky couldn't tolerate another moment of being a confined house cat. He drew out sharp fuming breaths with his paws withdraw where he stood. Displeasure was cementing in his thin body, ebony fur raised as he glared eagerly at the door; his pupils transformed into jewel slits in the middle of sky blue irises as his rear legs bowed, and front appendages hooked onto the white painted wood. He hissed to his torrent trouble; lashing his paws and scratching the wood as he murmured out in irate anger, needing to detach his own particular hide as the nonappearance of his disaster blurred with overwhelming jeans of warmed breath. It was difficult clear that his mankind was blurring. He knew there wasn't much time before he would get to be genuinely lost in the vessel of the denounced cat. The outrage that streamed in his framework wasn't only for his life, however Steve Rogers. How would he be able to take after his closest companion to have the same destiny? Steve was a decent man, the best there was and he eventually didn't merit a lifetime stuck inside a powerless creature.

In the wake of listening to what escaped from one of the kitten's mouth, Bucky snapped his head around, gazing, blue eyes altered on the female. She showed to indication of resistance towards him, her little form stalked closer to him as she whimpered with a muzzy clamor, which to his sharp hearing was irritating, yet she was tireless. He was blazing with dissatisfaction, and he was murmuring out a cautioning that didn't end against his sand paper tongue, "Make tracks in an opposite direction from me," he said in a brutal programmed reaction, abruptly incensed by her vicinity. "I will hurt you..." Then he ceased. Also the cat solidified in her tracks. Everything stopped. He dropped himself down, his blue eyes concentrated on her unnerving body, and he looked down at his paws, metal and hide. He pulled back, breaths racked in low and bothered sounds that hitched from his mouth.

No. No, no, no. Of every last one of things to gaze at...Guilt and detesting regret cleared over him, attacking each fissure of his winding soul, and after that he gulped and shook his head at the sudden surge of tears. She was apprehensive about him as a result of his debilitating stance, very nearly frightened out her psyche as she shuddered under his dim shadow and mewled with mad cries. And afterward, Bucky lurched out for her, and blockaded her separation with his paw; warily pushing her closer to him. He was attempting to calm her down, even notwithstanding what had happened when his Winter Soldier programming frequented his brain. He needed to recover her trust, yet there was no accommodating finishes of the impasses in the middle of humankind and interfaces; no sense to feel or to comprehend his desolating feelings.

The precious form of life trembling under his icy gaze, she was his to protect.

Bucky sucked his textured lips hatefully into a frown, "I didn't intend to frighten you, its hard for me to adjust. I'm a human..." He trailed off with a far off rhythm in his unpleasant voice... "An injured fighter."

Just then, a commotion from the corridor outside the flat flagged that Steve had returned. The captain opened the entryway and came inside, bolting the jolt behind him. His athletic shirt was wet in a few spots and his hair was oily, yet he scarcely seemed as though he had quite recently worked out. His breath was even and his step was still as overwhelming as ever.

His bright eyes soon saw something that pained him, however. The doorway he had quite recently closed was secured in scratches that surely hadn't been there in the recent past. It didn't take a criminologist to realize that these had been made by a troubled feline, and Steve turned worriedly to discover his changed companion.

"Bucky," he called. Stepping away from the door, he soon spotted the black cat curled up next to one of the kittens. He moved towards the pair with great concern. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"Fine," a hoarse, bitten escaped from the black cat, he stroked his muzzle against the kitten's head. He recognized the calmness of touch. "She...I sort of frightened her."

"I was talking about you," Steve said, sitting down on the floor and looking into the cat's deep eyes. "What's going on?"

There was an obscure swell in his midsection, Bucky brought down his head in contempt, "Take a look at me, Steve," a thunder from the drone despondency vibrated his ribs. "I'm a cat...I'm not James Barnes anymore; and I think ought to accept this life. I deserve it."He fixed his eyes close for a long minute, feeling the surface of detaches edging to pour from him. "I hurt a lot of good people, destroyed lives all because I was the gun and HYDRA pulled the trigger. I don't want you to look at me with pathetic face, this is my reward for the crimes I have done..."

Steve felt as though his extremely soul had been cloven in two by Bucky's miserable words. He arrived at his hand forward and rested it on the feline's sharp shoulder bone. Taking in a breath and gulping an irregularity in his throat, he attempted to think about the most ideal approach to give his friend hope.

"Bucky, HYDRA committed those crimes, not you. You yourself are a victim of their offenses more than anyone else. You don't have to blame yourself. It's like you said; HYDRA used you as their gun to kill lots of people. But who in their right mind would be angry at a weapon for its wielder's crimes? Bucky, you don't have to believe HYDRA's lies; they don't control you anymore.

"And you won't be a cat for long. I promise you that we can discover how to fix this; if there's a way to transform someone into a cat, and then there's got to be a way to reverse it. We will find that way."

The heaviness of regret of Steve's words cut through him. Sitting tight for the answers wasn't going to change him over into a human. He expected to backtrack the occasions of the change, cut up the missing subtle elements and end this convoluted condemnation that kept him prisoner in catlike's body. Lifting his head, Bucky scanned for determined in Steve's light blue eyes. Trust. Enough to let him know there was an opportunity to escape from the condemnation, additionally enough to make question reality. His brain, absolute entirety contorted as a surge of grieved torment attacked him yet again. Snatching the measure of mettle he required, the feline confronted the super-solider with arguing eyes, "You need to stay far from me, Steve...If we can't break this curse..." He bit his tongue, gulping back the coppery tang of blood as he shouted. "You'll turn into a cat..."

With that grave response, Bucky stalked back to the door, and he whispered, "I can live with this curse, Steve, but I can't live if you're not free from it."

"And I can't live if you're not free from it either," Steve affirmed with as much resolve as he could muster. "I'd rather be cursed a thousand times than stay as I am, only to know that I didn't help my friend when I could have. When I should have. I couldn't take that kind of dishonor; please don't ask me to."

Bucky shook his head, "The world needs Captain America to toss his powerful shield, not the Winter Soldier to fill a couple of graves." he resounded back, coldly.

"The world has five other Avengers to keep it save," Steve replied, still trying to stand his ground, "not to mention all its police and soldiers. But the Winter Soldier only has one friend, and that friend is not leaving him. That would be a contradiction of everything I stand for! Bucky, I was barely able to live when you fell and I thought you were dead because of my failure. How could I go on if I knew I had simply given up? Do you ask me to live in such agony?"

"I never asked for any of this," Bucky slashed out a paw, his blue eyes livid with contempt. "I never asked to be unmade and lose the only woman I have ever loved because of HYDRA's morbid dealings with the devil to create their perfect world of order!"

"I know, Bucky!" Steve said quickly, hoping to calm his friend down. He was quite curious about the woman Bucky mentioned, but it was clearly not the right time to ask about it. Instead, Steve kept his thoughts and words focused on the current problem. "And no one's blaming you for what has happened. If they do, they'll have me to reckon with. What I'm saying is that I'm not leaving you to this fate, even if helping you endangers me. You don't need to argue about it, because this is the only option. The subject is not open for debate. I am going to help you, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner we can lift this curse."

Steve crossed his arms and hardened his expression, hoping that his stubbornness would be respected and maybe even admired by his companion. Inside, he felt anything but resilient. It seemed like his heart had been torn apart, and every time he looked into Bucky's eyes, searching for the soul entrapped in a cat's body, his inner pain was renewed. But he had to be strong for his friend. He would not fail Bucky again.

Bucky huffed, paws dug into the floor, "Fine," he murmured back fervently, deflecting his eyes from Steve's firm gaze. "If it doesn't work..."

"Then so be it." Steve huffed, his will worn thin by the argument, but a smile of triumph pulling at his lips. "Now, how about finding the way to reverse this transformation?"

The cat felt numb for a minute; he gazed toward Steve with gravity in his light blue eyes, he should be dead if Steve didn't perform his heroics in the city, and spare him. Memories immediately came back to him as he breathed the air intensely, urgently welcoming those empty and searing words of the horrible mantra back within him. "I remember the old hag saying something about a true friend can save me..." He whispered, memories of the night in graveyard were slowly returning, but like his mind, they were scattered and incoherent to the absence of thought.

The ones that did however were the most alarming and calamitous thoughts of a deranged witch butchered his soul with her wrath...Dark magic...condemnation...fate...solitary...and a friend...

"You're one who can reverse the curse, Steve." Bucky managed, weakly. His blue eyes hardly kept tears from the dull ache in his chest. His heart ceased to beat, as the next thought sent a spike of warmth through the empowering panic that overtook him.

"Anna..." The name of his overlooked affection came back to him alongside clear picture of a radiant magnificence that emanated love and trust, additionally turmoil and anguish. The sentiments connected to those were sufficient to life a broken man from the edge of despondency and fill him with a feeling of everlasting strength. He clung to those memories and sentiments like a lifeline, anxious they would dissipate and blur as she did from the minute she admitted her affection to him...The Winter Soldier...HYDRA's killing machine...The ghost.

She was gone.

"Well," Steve said, snapping Bucky out of the past and back to the present. "If we know that I can reverse the curse, then we're one step closer to our goal. And Bucky..." Steve left his heart again stabbed with pity as he reached out his hands towards the friend that he loved as a brother. "Buck, if there's another innocent victim of HYDRA out there, a friend of yours, I promise that I will do all in my power to find them. Okay? Your friends are my friends."

Steve's hands closed around the small, black body of the graceful feline and pulled the creature close. Steve wrapped his friend in a warm embrace; tears pricking his eyes as he thought of all Bucky had gone through. That Brooklyn kid had supported Steve for his whole life; it was time to return the favor.

Feeling the empowering warmth of his best friend shielding over his displaced form; Bucky closed his and nestled his body against Steve's chest. He sighed contently.

A dull vibration began to course over the cat's body, and a sweet, calm sound emanated from Bucky's mouth. He was purring. A smile crept up Steve's face, and a chuckle escaped his lips.

"Bucky, are you purring?" he asked, a teasing tone touching his voice lightly enough not to make Bucky clamp up against him.

"Shut up, punk," the cat managed to answer him as he drifted into peaceful slumber.

He felt safe.

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**A/N: A big thank to Thalion Estel for co-writing this story with me. The next chapter will have more detail about Anna and how she fits into the story. Enjoy and thank you.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

* * *

Oak branches contorted over the vacant grave site, contracting into a gray abyss of morning fog. A chilly November rain dripped from the sodden leaves and onto her sleek ebony fur. Her ember eyes were fixed at a marble marker, fading words of forgotten friend. It felt like ages since her paws roamed over the obscured area; in truth it had grown to become years. She held the lifetimes of people in her ageless eyes, watching them grow old in each passing drift of time. It was her curse to become an observer and comfort. She knew it in the depths of her mind that there was no chance of freedom...There was no hope of escaping from this life. And she was condemned. Imprisoned by torturous magic that encased her bones and trapped her spirit into a symbolic animal she had once deemed herself to be in her youth days. She had never envisioned humans becoming transformed into animal captives. It happened, that night when she stared into his ghostly blue eyes and saw his heart scattering.

_James._

She closed her eyes, and imagined him when they were both dead and alive.

* * *

(Flashback)

She had been discarded from the eyes of HYDRA, left to rot without the warmth of his arms (flesh and metal) enclosed over her lithe form. Anna looked around over the cell, musty air invaded her nostrils as she reluctantly breathed in the stench of decay greeting her in all directions of her confinement; she had been condemned to live in the nest of scraps of fabric with only a dim flicker of candle light to keep her hope from fading as the coldness and darkness encroached around her trembling body.

It had been torture to listen to his horrific screams of utter anguish echo in her eardrums; she knew they were frying his brain, erasing his memories and falsifying his emotions with their interweaving orders. She spent years, looking at his disheveled existence melt away into the hardened gaze of the Winter Soldier, but she also spent her days bringing the true man back, through her loving caresses of her lips along the sharp clenched of his jaw; the warmth of her kiss on his frozen lips and the steady beat of her heart against his firm chest; she was in love with him so much that would offer her soul to HYDRA just to have one moment to stare into his pale blue eyes, and find him again. From the depths of her soul came the sounds of young woman begging to for her freedom; shedding tears for the life she wanted to have with him. It was too reminiscent of her days to feel the unrelenting bite of the cold penetrate in her bones and churn the acid in her stomach.

She had waited for hours, listening to the rusted bars of the cell screech open, and stared into the emotionless eyes of the old woman, Octavia Fleischer , a member of the occult, half German and Romanian, her face darkened with corrupted malice, and gray eyes filled with disgust. Some of the young female operatives, pegged her as a witch because of the morbid things she performed in the basement. She wasn't blessed with beauty, no, she was scarred by the demons of her past, left side of her face covered with a metallic plate that concealed her marred skin. She experimented on the weak, butchering them into hollow shells, and enslaving them into vessels that weren't human, but tragic results of her tortuous subjection. She loomed in front of Anna, glaring her down with her wraith like eyes, scowling as she sniffed the fear wafting in the air.

"The scent of death," she said with a gravelly voice, her eyes flashing. A smirk rose on her twisted face, the sight enough to make Anna cringe. "Marvelous isn't it?"

Anna made no response, and Octiva's sadistic grin quickly changed back into a frown. She pointed an accusing, claw-like finger at the young operative, her eyes narrowing as a predator surveying its prey.

"You must be enjoying the lovely chorus provided by your friend in there," the witch said, gesturing down the hall to the Red Room. "It is the anthem of HYDRA, and you will join the song in due time. But not without a familial prelude."

Anna's face betrayed her confusion and fear, and another wicked smile crept up the old hag's marred face. "Your brother-in-law performed his part very well; lots of screams. He was fun to listen to, before he died, that is." Her cold, cruel eyes showed absolutely no remorse as she continued. "Your dear sister and her unborn child will soon follow in his footsteps. Traitors are weaklings, and there can be no weaklings with HYDRA."

"Please spare their lives," Anna whimpered, lowering her head. Her heart urging her to look away so that she might be spared from the wicked gaze invading her wrenched form. It felt like a haze of momentary cowardice shrouded over her, as she narrowed her brown eyes, avoiding the ominous gray chasms piercing through the shadows. She'd chewed on her colorless lips. She had been hiding from them, protecting her secret, and keeping her younger sister safe. How could she conceal something like this from her handlers? Why didn't she tell him? How dare they try to murder her sister? Why couldn't she be strong enough to protect her own blood, instead of becoming a coward, "Ella doesn't deserve this... I deserve death..." She gritted her teeth, brown eyes became molten embers of defiance. "Not my sister."

"Both of you brats deserve death," snapped the occultist, her poisoned dipped nails clenching into a fist. "And you will both have it. You will be HYDRA's example of what happens to those who try to defy us. Get ready, little princess; you're about to be brought into my throne room."

Octavia waved a hand and two HYDRA guards appeared at the cell doorway. Seeing the anger and boldness in Anna's fierce eyes, Octavia added a little incentive. "The more you struggle, the longer and more painful it will be for her. And would you like to take a brief pause beside your dear assassin's room? I'm sure we can have some fun there, too. I have several little tricks I'd like to try out on him."

Anna looked down, dismayed, when tears coated her brown eyes "Leave him out of this!" she stormed through gritted teeth, fires of remorse burning in her.

"Then be a good little girl and come with me," the occultist chucked with cruelty, her voice a mixture between mocking and threatening. "Why don't come and see your broken soldier. Watch him lose everything with just a flick of a switch."

"You will never win," Anna resounded, her voice crackling with each pant of breath; slowly she reared her lithe form off cold ground, and staggered to the cell's doorway. "Evil never prevails."

The witch let out a cackle that sent a shiver up Anna's spine. She stepped aside to let her captive out of the door and, then began to lead the small troop down the hallway towards the basement's entrance. "That means precious little coming from you at this moment, dearie. You are already defeated and broken. I have already prevailed."

Anna glanced over her tensed shoulder, scowling darkly at the witch, "He will kill you..." she warned, with a measure of coldness in her strained voice. She was breathing out her words of desperation. "You can't run from him..."

The witch pivoted on her spiked heels, and then moved closer to Anna's face until they were only a few inches apart. Then in a swift stroke, Octavia lashed out and slapped Anna's face, leaving cruel, and reddened scratches with her long nails. Before Anna could react to the abuse, the hag grabbed her victim by the strands of hair and drew her up close again.

"Do not threaten me, girl," Octavia hissed, her foul breath nearly making Anna vomit. "The Soldier will feel pain for that remark, as will you." She gripped Anna's wrist and dug her claws into it, drawing blood quickly, but pushing down even harder. "Now shut your worthless trap and obey."

Octavia, huffing triumphantly, spun on her heels and resumed her walk down the hallway. But then she stopped, her evil heart eager to cause more pain. She held up a hand to the guards who were walking slightly behind her and faced Anna again, a smile curving on her cracked, blackened lips.

"Why don't we go and see your assassin?" she asked conceitedly; her smile growing slightly as her mind formulated the coming scene. "Would you like a last goodbye? I'm sure we can arrange a fine farewell gift for him."

Anna felt smoldering tear well in her eyes, she didn't want to face him-James. Hesitantly, she shook her head, "I don't want to see him...Not in that state."

"Excellent," murmured Octavia ignoring Anna's protests and nodding to the guards, who each took one of Anna's arms and held them fast. "Come," the witch said, heading for the door from whence screams of agony came. "I'm sure he'll be so happy to see you."

Anna roared, "No!"

Listening to the chorus of heart-wrenching howls of pain, Anna felt her felt quivering as her eyes became transfixed on the doors with the symbols of HYDRA painted on the tarnished steel walls. All the accumulating thralls of distress, horror and rage just made her lash out. "I don't want to see him strapped down to the chair, screaming out names of people who don't exist; especially the one that he keeps on repeating from the past. A captain of some sort..." She seethed through her clenched teeth with frightening brown eyes directed on the door.

The witch was not fazed by Anna's plea, and she directed the guards toward the entrance, the screams becoming clearer and louder as they approached. They quickly reached the door frame and entered, the room opening up before them like the mouth of a grave. The stench in here was even worse than in the cell, and even Octavia seemed a little distressed by it. It smelled of blood, sweat, and rot. One could feel the pain in the very air of the room.

"Stop your work for a moment," the sordid hag commanded the agents, harshly.

The undaunted operatives ceased their tortures immediately, obviously out of fear of the person who had issued the order. For the first time in what seemed like ages, the terrible cries of anguish subsided. Octavia drew close to the bounded specimen, who was heaving in deep breaths and coughing up some blood. For the moment, he didn't even seem aware of his surroundings; he stared at a fixed point above him without looking around or moving. The witch drew her crooked, dark finger across his strong jaw line and smiled wickedly. Turning to face Anna again, she croaked out a mocking laugh, as her lips curved into a taunting sneer.

"Haven't you got anything to say to him?"

Those cold words pierced her soul...Well whatever was left of it.

"I..." Anna released a shaky exhale, that did little to ease her nerves. She did her utmost to remain calm and felt her heart build enough courage to face him. The metallic chrome plates of his bionic arm caught her disheveled reflection; she hardly looked human enough to settle her tear filled brown eyes on the illusion of a ghost. He was unresponsive to her soothing presence, his pale blue eyes glazed with milky film of lingering anguish. His full lips chapped with flecks of blood as he tried to speak, but all that manage to escape from his raw throat was harsh and forced out wheeze, and breathed noisily.

"Who are you?"he slurred, his voice damaged from the dryness of the stale heat permeating the room. He winced, and sealed his eyes shut from the harsh light pouring over his exposed and slick muscles. His lips curled into a feral grimace. "Why did you come here..."

"I wanted to see you again." Anna sobbed, reaching her shaky hand towards the Winter Soldier. Surprisingly, no one stopped her, and while she knew that couldn't be a good sign, she didn't let the thought deter her. Her graceful fingers finally made contact with the firm muscles of his flexing right arm, and she let herself soak in all the details of his rigid touch. He was strong and steady, even in the midst of such terrible pain. A tear slipped over her soiled cheek, and she let her hand wander up to the Soldier's tensed face.

For a brief moment, time stood still. Anna gazed into the deep blue eyes of the one she loved, losing herself in them. For that second, she was not trapped in the vile bonds of Hydra. She was free, soaring in the pale blue sky of a clear day, no cloud or shadow in sight to dim her joy. Her fingers brushed aside the sloppy and long brown strands of hair obscuring part of James' cheek, and she whispered the truth without a thought to the despair all around her.

"You know me," Anna breathed.

She bit her lip, leaning forward to brush his rakish bangs off his drenched brow. "You've been hurt," she said, her voice breaking. "It's all going to be alright, we're together now." She heaved out, trying to suppress the flow of tears blurring her eyes. "Everything is going to be fine."

The Winter Solider starting muttering a gibberish of disjointed Russian words, timidly. "I know you," he panted out as his ghostly blue eyes burned with livid tears and his rigid metal hand shot to Anna's frail forearm, crunching the bones with a constricting squeeze as she yelp against the numbness plaguing in her veins, the fist curled itself over a tender part of her arm, mechanism whirred with strain of its task, bruising over her pale skin, the metal digits scraped as he tried to crush her bones and she screamed out in pain.

"The love between you two is moving," the witch laughed cruelly, eyeing Anna with a look of victory in her darkened eyes. "The Winter Soldier belongs to HYDRA," she ground out, glaring at the assassin before her. "In a matter of hours, he will not even know you from any other person. He is a weapon, not a man. Your love is a waste of emotion that has betrayed you to your death."

"No," Anna cried, trying to wrench her arm free of the Winter's Soldier's iron grasp. "Soldier, don't leave me, please!"

Her brown eyes filled with emotion, begging the Soldier to hear her desperate pleas. With her free arm, she took his right hand and clasped it, knowing that such an act could result in further injury to herself. She didn't care. "James, remember me!"

He narrowed his eyes to her dainty hand encased over his flesh and bones. He traced her blemished knuckles with a cold touch of metal. She interlocked her fingers in the spaces of his own, and he started to shiver. Little tremors of his nerves quivering under his slick muscles like tiny aftershocks from the trauma and pain his shackled body had experienced. He blinked the haze out of his vision, and lifting his head slight up, as he looked at her, really stared with deep sorrow when her angelic face hovered over him. She was dream; coffee irises filled of life and trust, full lips painted with the shade of crimson, and silky chocolate hair that draped over her ivory features. He always look to her when the darkness consumed him; when he needed liberation out of his mindless deliriums, She was life.

"Anna," he mumbled against her, his voice weak and more lackluster than before, but she was mere inches from him, she could easily hear her name ghost from his bruised lips. "You're beautiful..." he whispered.

Anna smiled in spite of the moment, letting more tears fall. She pressed her palm against James' hand and tried to give him some warmth; he was so cold. A nod from the witch caused the guards to step forward to grab her, and before they could, Anna hurriedly leaned forward. She pressed her lips against her beloved's brow, kissing him farewell.

"Never forget," she said in his ear, her heart was breaking. He felt every word. "Day will come to us someday."

A hand violently pulled Anna back by her mussed hair, and she cried out, extending her hands toward James in one last desperate attempt to keep from being parted from him. Her fingers brushed against the Soldier's hand one last time before she was out of reach.

"Begin your work again," Octavia snapped at the operatives, "The director wants you to step it up. HYDRA's asset has incurred some additional punishment because of the way his little brat has acted."

Horror clenched his belly, confusion and rage. His lips broke apart as he unleashed ragged cries of heartbreak. "She belongs to me!"

Thrashing his body weight against the chair; he manged to rip his metal arm out of the hinges of the clasp. The plates disconnected from the wires, and his straggly dark hair fell against his hardened jaw. "Anna," he growled out, breathlessly. His eyes widened with realization. She looked at him, really looked at him with the undeniable truth welled in her rich brown eyes. He searched for his resolve in the shadows of the room, avoiding the sinister gaze of the witch whom threatened to take her away from him. His heart was beckoning out to her like a lifeline, as he tried to grasp her as the tempest of swirling red devoured his thoughts. His lips curled as he pleaded in a harsh breath, fearing for her life. "I completed the mission...I did what you told me to do."

The steel doors creaked opened, and the director stepped inside with smug grin etched over his aging features. His cold and passive blue eyes stared him down with disappointment as he approached the chair in hauntingly steps. His was tall, shoulders at ease from tension and his lips held a firm line as he narrowed his gaze at the Winter Soldier. Still, this man of the high position of order displayed no hesitation under the fierce gaze of his asset. Brushing the strands of his ginger-blonde hair from his forehead, he halted in his strides and settled his sharp eyes on Octavia. "You know I think its best that you this lovely young woman here for awhile before we begin the direct approach of extraction." He spared his glance at Anna, placing his hand on her pallid cheek as she trembled with an shaky exhales. "You were meant to be a comfort to lure him back out of the pain. Submission was the law that you agreed to follow when your father sent here."

Anna felt her throat tightened. Come on, don't allow him to break you. Maybe there was a chance for her life to become spared. Unfortunately, HYDRA wasn't merciful. Punishment was always their reckoning against defiance. He was close enough to catch her shifts of emotions. His gaze narrowed as he waited for her to answer him. She swallowed and took her stand, "It wasn't my choice to spend a life here." she felt-something-from the depths of her throat, erupting at the center of her chest. "You forced my father to something he want to do. At the end of deal you ordered your men to open fire and kill him right in front of me and the thing that prevent me from gutting her lungs-my sister."

Something-a low, drawn out rumble of a sound. An uncompressed growl.

Darkly as she stood, Anna twisted her bloodless lips into a smirk and shot him a penetrating glare with her eyes. She edged a step closer; feeling the urges to kill him right there in front of everyone. She had changed from a meek and flinching woman into a dangerous and unpredictable animal-a cat-, unhinged and cornered. For the shortest of a second the director saw a flash of murder in her eyes.

"Your compliance is not acceptable," the director admonished, inching a step back, and nodded as Octavia seized her wrist from behind, twisting the limb against her back. "Your father was in the way. He needed to be removed before certain secrets ended up in our enemies hands. He was a good agent, but he had weakness." He stiffed his lips, and traced his thumb across her chin. "Like all good men they sacrifice everything to protect the things they love." He said, looking down disappointingly at the Winter Soldier.

"Leave him out of this. I'm the one who deserves punishment." Anna returned through clenched teeth. Octavia yanked her hair, jerking her head ups as she released a small yelp.

"This world is a dark place." The director said withdrawing back and he moved to the table. He opened a tattered covered book, flipping through crisped pages of ancient Druid text. "Sometimes to build a new world out of darkness you need make a deal with the devil." He added, ripping out a page, and holding it against the light. "You have choice to make my dear," Anna looked at him with enraged eyes. "This text holds a power that can be unleashed with simple words. It was made to devour souls of men during the Dark Ages. We have acquired the books from tombs of the beholders of this force of miracle. We have used it on a few unworthy captives...You're brother in-law David didn't contain enough strength to handle the incantations."

Anna shook head, disbelieving his words. "You're lying!"

With that, the director snapped his fingers, and within seconds of the commanding echo the doors opened and two operatives dragged in a tarp; dropping it at in the middle of the room. He walked casually to the area, crouched down and pulled it open, revealing charred skeletal remains of a human body. David's body. Anna tore her glazed eyes away from the horrific sight, and focused them on the Winter Soldier, as the assassin shifted in the chair, feeling a sense of reverence hit him. Those deadened and empty eyes held tears as he stared back at her. "I promise you that it will quick for her sister. A simple torture that will truly break her. The choice is in your hands."

It has always been about choice with her life, she couldn't allow Ella to die, no matter how much she loved sister. And she knew that she would be enslaved, condemned and alone. At least there was a chance for her to freedom. And for James, she knew he wasn't going to be a puppet on strings forever. He would have a life, maybe not a normal life, but still a life. Time slowed as she entered at impasse, and just stared into the Winter Soldier's pale blue eyes, before drawing at a shuddering breath. "I'll do whatever I can to keep Ella spared from this..."

The Winter Soldier stared deeply at her, as tears streaked over his bruised and ashed cheeks. "Anna," he breathed, heartbreak with held in his blue eyes. "Don't do this."

"It's my choice." she said and then was dragged away. Everything was being swallowed into black mass of dread. Anna listened to him screaming out her name as he was detained, and thrown hard against the chair. A dull pain entered her heart. She never called back to him. She loved him. That's all he needed to know. Not through her voice, but through her straying tears.

_My choice._

* * *

The coldness of the rain woke the black feline from the torrents of memory as her frontal paw caressed over the wording engraved in the stone. She hadn't let herself touch the marker that held her sister's name like this until now, hadn't let herself think about her past for a long time. It was her choice to sacrifice her life in order to save Ella and her niece. Her promise.

Warm tears welled inside the deep pools of ember; the cat hung her head low, fighting against the conflict of despair and hate. Her paw clenched into a fist, as he parted her jaws and spoke with a mournful whisper of defeat. "I'm sorry," A confession pierced from her throat. "I tried to find a way but I was not strong enough." She slammed his eyes shut, constricting the tears under her lids. "It should have been me…" She sobbed, rubbing her muzzle against the rough surface of the gave. "I did my best...I guess it wasn't enough to save you."

Suddenly, Anna's thoughts were distracted by the sound of movement. The cat did not run as her instincts told her; something rooted her to the spot and refused to allow her to leave. She turned her gaze and focused her keen eyes on the source of the disturbance, trying to see what was approaching through the falling rain.

The figure soon came into clear view, and Anna was surprised to find that it was a small girl, too young to be out in the rain all by herself. Yet here she was, walking slowly through the cemetery. As the little girl neared the stone-still feline, Anna made out some of the arrivals' condition. The child had a tattered shall wrapped around her shivering arms in a failing attempt to keep out the chill. Her dark blonde hair was wet and dripping with rain, and her feet were tied with cloth; no shoes to grace them.

The girl did not see Anna at first, but she was apparently headed for the grave. Her sweet, quiet voice soon called out, though Anna could not see anyone to whom the girl was speaking.

"Hi, Grandmother," the girl began in a light, carefree tone. "Sorry I haven't come to see you in so long. I was looking for lunch, and it took longer than I..." the child's eyes spotted the cat, and her face brightened into a wide smile. "Hello, there," she beamed. "Are you here to see my grandmother too?"

Anna felt something familiar in the little girl's blue eyes and soft face. She cautiously stepped closer, and the child leaned down and extended a hand. "Can I pet you?"

Anna made no protest, and the girl's hand stroked her wet fur with a kind touch. "You're cold," the child said with concern, "I'll wrap you up."

The girl sat with her legs crossed beside the grave and pulled the cat into her arms, putting the cloak around the animal and cuddling it close. "This is where my grandmother is," she said with reserve in her voice; patting the cat's head and pointing to the grave stone. "I sometimes come to see her when I'm lonely. She's a good listener."

"So am I, little one," Anna purred somberly as she nuzzled her drench body close to her grandniece.

* * *

**A/N : A huge thanks goes to Thalion Estel for being amazing as always with this chapter. Another big thanks to all the readers and followers. Next chapter will have lots more Steve and Bucky bonding and some HYDRA villains. Enjoy and thank you.**


	12. Chapter 12

**{12}**

* * *

Bucky sifted his paws curiously over Steve's wardrobe, standing on his hind legs and swiping apart fabrics of separate garments and pulling them aside.

He stared at the Avengers black sweatshirt lodged in between plaid shirts and a dark green military suit hanging tidily on metal hanger and encased in clear plastic, the cat looked at the uniform through the fever blur and traced his paw over the sleeve. He was familiar with the uniform and couldn't help but smile to himself. It was a momentarily glimpse of happiness that soon became doused with the harrowing sense of the curse flowing in his veins.

Though, he tried to fight pain, it still twisted the threads of his imprisoned soul. Memories faltered as he lowered himself down from the closet but his claws were suck in the plastic and he tugged the uniform off the rack and fell over him.

He was trapped.

Releasing fussy noises, the cat thrashed against the plastic, trying to escape as frantic pants of breath emerged from his mouth. One moment he felt helpless and bolted inside the closet, underneath a self of books and old records. The plastic created obstruction over his vision as he nearly banged his head into something hard and metal. A hollow ting vibrated in his ears, as he alarmingly stepped back only to trip on Steve's boots.

"Get this stuff off of me!"

Suffocating, Bucky screeched in distress, and managed to pull off the sheet of plastic, breathing heavily as he caught a glimpse of a couple shields-a very traditional spade crusading looking with the American red and white stripes and stars, and another one, circular, faded from age but still held that feeling of power. He run his paw over the curve.

For a moment he felt stuck in a strange haze, bones wracked against his jet fur and horrible sounds and painful shocks passed through him.

_He stared at the robot rising it's arm and firing a blast of energy. The same blue power source that had turned soldiers into ash within seconds. He felt all the blood in his face drain as he raced towards Steve. His heart was throbbing with every breath as he released as time slowed around him._

_ There wasn't a chance that his best friend could survive a blast, so he reacted on impulse and picked up the shield, and stood in front of Steve who slowly lifted himself up with his hands. He marched forward with defiance burning in his eyes, holding the shield close to his chest proudly as the cold flecks of snow slashed over his face, and then as he was about to draw fire at the machine ...A shock wave of a a bone jostling blast struck him and sent him hurling out of the train car and he clung to a small metal bar and waited for Steve to save him..._

He jumped aback quickly on his feet and went back to the bed and ducked under the mattress to hide. Closing his eyes he flushed out the images with darkness, hopelessly trying to distract himself, focusing on nothing just the rumbles of his silent purring and the echoes of his surroundings.

Still, the residual guilt consumed him; it wasn't nearly as bad, it was only a small fragment of memory. Those waves of delirium made him sick. He didn't want to spew his guts out. Not again. Not for the third time in two days. Steve would suspect that something was wrong. It was least thing Bucky wanted his friend to be concerned about, it was bad enough that he brought Steve into his morbid world of monsters, witches and dark magic. He didn't want the captain to see his pain, to see him struggle to regain humanity. He was going to fight this internal battle alone. Steve couldn't carry his burdens and shield him from the fate HYDRA bestowed onto him, and he knew that time was betraying him. The curse was merging into his bones, thoughts and whatever was left of his heart.

He wiggled out of the obscurity of the mattress, sneezing a little as dust practicals touched his nose and padded his way to the balcony door, silently.

It was in his instincts to run...and so he crept outside into the heavy snowfall and disappeared leaving small paw marks for Steve to follow.

* * *

Still learning to cope with the daunting truth of her grandniece's life, Anna felt battered by the cruel realization that her bloodline had been cursed for years, ever since HYDRA's occult leader condemned her beauty and soul inside a vessel of a stray and ageless black cat. She gave her life up to spare her sister and unborn niece. It was a sacrifice of the heart, because she never got to stare into pale blue eyes of her love-James-she had grieved for him every time she looked at the brilliance of colors in the blue sky, snowflakes and scraps chrome metal piled in vacant alleyways.

For a lifetime, she prowled the cities of the world, a silent and disheveled observer in the shadows; staring out young couples, families and gravestones.

It wasn't a great way to survive, but it kept her strength up and drove hope back into her, giving her a sense that she will be reunited with him.

There was one small fraction of time, a few weeks ago, she had caught a glimpse, just a small glimpse of the Winter Soldier stalking inside the obstructed area of parked vehicles with scope launcher lifted high to his metal shoulder. She was curled up under a small car during that time, hiding from the loud vibrations of explosions and screams from the hordes of frantic and panicking citizens racing through the streets. When she was preparing to bolt, that moment she froze as the a gleam of silver reflected in her eyes. She only the back of him at first, armored vest with a gun strapped between his shoulder blades, the long and wolfish mane was the sight recognition.

_Once the smoke cleared, and flecks of sunlight dotted the asphalt the black feline raised her head with uncertainly welled in her ember eyes. The disturbance of heavy gun fire was deafened to her ears. In every direction there were mercenaries holding up assault rifles and aiming at the running targets. It wasn't the average afternoon rush hour, smoldering vehicles were turned upside down, with gauging holes eating away at the compromised metal. In vague glance of her sharpened vision, she saw a a flash of blood red hair flopping off shoulders of a lithe female pacing down the street, and watched the red haired woman look over her shoulder, darting her green eyes apprehensively. Then, in the thick of chase the intrigued cat __moved closer to the wheel cap, and found herself staring at menacing figure emerging from the clearness of gray. _

_The Winter Soldier stalked closer with slow, and calculated steps as he approached the area-he looked pissed off about something, his grayish blue eyes were trained and vacant as he loomed over one area, right in front of the vehicle she had been hiding underneath. Her little heart sped up a few beats, and she became still as he crouched down, knelt on one armored knee-she saw the clear visage of his face. _

_His deadly eyes hidden by straggly tresses of hair that nearly touched his shoulders. His graphite mask was the same, concealing the fullness of his lips and structure of his heavy jaw. She opened to open her mouth, and say something...anything to him, but she hesitated when a shunt of doubt and blanched away. She couldn't bring herself to face him, not after all those years of endearing a broken heart -she needed to let him finish his mission._

_ For moment, she just stared at his fierce eyes and whispered in muffled voice, almost like she was crying. "James..."_

Anna shook off the memories, she caught of glimpse of herself in the cracked mirror, and then after standing on the vanity, looking at her bedeviled reflection, she collected herself back up, took a few heavy inhaled and jumped down onto the scuffed floorboards. Her acute ember eyes looked at the little girl huddled in a closet, tattered blankets and cushions made up a fort like shelter against the damp air of the vacant apartment. She moved in hushed steps, and rubbed her face over the child's tucked legs, purring softly to ease the tears she noticed escaping from her new friend's eyes. "It's alright, little one," she cooed, stroking her head against the small hand poking from the heap of covers.

"Close eyes, and go to sleep. I'm here and I promise you, nothing bad will come..." she paused and turned her glaring eyes to the window. There was a faint gleam of light piercing from the dingy blackness of the alleyway. Anna's only sign that hope didn't abandoned her. Despite the gloom that surrounded her, she found relative peace on this night, she knew that James was out there searching for her, maybe not his eyes, but his heart. "Just the dawn."

* * *

Cold. Bucky felt his bones jostle as he stalked through the mounds of snow. His ebony fur dusted with white as he moved towards the wooden stairwell. He had been wandering the streets, twisting obstructions of the dank maze of alleyways, pathways and roads. He kept in the obscurity, blending well of his surroundings as he walked in hush and slinky steps across the barren sidewalk; unheard and unseen by unwanted eyes. The only witness of his elusive presence as a small tuft of brown fur wedged in narrow space of a crack. A mouse-his prey-instincts controlled his thoughts as his blue eyes trained on the small rodent popping in and out of its hiding space.

With patience, the cat lowered his body, and then he crawled on his belly using his frontal paws to give him traction. His approach was silent but merciless. Timing was everything to his hunt. His laser eyed vision locked on his target as his stomach growled, and blood pumped faster. He felt the twisting aderaline boost in his system. Claws retracted out to gather the sensory of vibrations of mouse pattering in front of the hole. It was consuming surge of fire rushing in his veins. He halted in mid-step, and leveled his eyes on the vulnerable animal. At first, he was unnoticed, but then, the mouse jerked in startled movement, twitching its nose and then it froze under the encroaching shadow of the cat.

The rodent was easy prey.

"You're mine," the cat hissed daringly; feeling his retracted claws sink into the snow as he positioned his slender form into attacking stance. The mouse was corners, squeaking in fear as the daunting blue eyes of feline glared intently down on the short limbs, the limits of a counterattack were thin. Bucky knew his prey didn't stand a chance against his programmed hunting tactics. His predatory instincts drove him closer to the objective. He was impeded to spare the mouse from the kill. He was craving the nourishment the creature's blood offered. He waited for the opening, a distraction and then he seized his prize, lunging at the small and defenseless rodent as he grabbed the mouse with his parted jaws. The grimy taste was horrible in his mouth, but he bit down and jabbed his fangs into the writhing body and killed the mouse within seconds of his crushing bite.

"Bucky?" a voice firm and assertive said, jerking the cat's attention from its hunt. He rasped out the obvious question. "What are you doing?"

Steve, who had appeared behind Bucky, made his way around the feline until he was standing directly in front of his friend. A mouse was dangling in the cat's jaws, bleeding from its recent demise. The look in Bucky's eyes was more wild and brute-like than Steve had yet seen, and it troubled him.

"Buck, are you alright?" the super soldier asked, concern evident in his tone.

Bucky stood there, his body tensed and blue eyes widened, as he fought to recover his voice, "Steve," he seethed dropping the dead rodent from his jaws. He took an alarming step back, and bowed his head in disdain. "I didn't mean to do this..." He breathed trying to collect himself. "It just came over me..."

"It's okay, Bucky," Steve said, bending down. "It's not your fault, and you've done nothing wrong anyway. Do you want something to eat besides a nasty corpse? You can just ask for that kind of stuff, you know."

"It was a laspe of controlling instinct...That was all. I'm used to harming the weak and I'm capable of killing without any concept of doing it," Bucky spat indignantly, forgetting about the lifeless mouse at his paws and trying to break out of his stoic composer as he looked up at Steve.

It was strange to feel guilt shoot into his heart as he snapped his gaze back at the victim of his brutal programming of an assassin. He flattened his ears, and withdrew a step away almost to the wall. He opened his mouth and sighed, "Sometimes I get the feeling that I will never change who they made me into-I've been unmade so many times that I don't even feel alive." he admitted in a distant voice.

_"I want you to stay still for me for this little operation, Sergeant James Barnes," the nefarious voice of Armin Zola whispered in his ear with gruff undertone._

_Bucky straightened against the cold metal of the elevated table, teeth digging into a wooden stick, lifting his head and letting his shoulders fall back and relax under the tightness of the straps. He released deep concentrated breaths, staring at the dots of light reflecting over the cement wall before him, nearly blinking with the moisture open of his eyes. His pale blue irises were dilated from the harsh light streaming down from the hanging fixtures above his twitching body, his right hand jerked as the needles pierced into his frigid skin making his tensed muscles of his jaw lax as he maintained a stilled and statue- like posture. His eyes grew dormant and glazed as numbness took hold of his bones._

_"Now tell me if you can feel anything?" Zola hissed, lifting up his surgical tools from the cart that had been wheeled to his side. "I want to make sure that you are comfort before we begin the procedure." Bucky panted out heavy gulps of breath as the circular lights flicked on, nearly blinding him as figures loomed closer to the table, their bodies clothed in face and faces covered with a layer of fabric. In their hands were sawing and soldering tools attached to dangling wires that looped over pieces of metal plating gathered on a wooden table across from him._

_"No..." Bucky managed to stammer out as Zola reached over his long tresses of brown hair, holding his head up as he writhed against the table. His bare chest heaved out harsh breaths as the muscles grow firm when the cold and stale air of the room waved over his exposed skin. He could barely focus on his thoughts as another jab of needle punched in his forearm. He wanted to scream but the serum pumping in his veins made him voiceless. All he could do was surrender to the pain._

_Zola sneered, wickedly, driving his fingernails against the softness of Bucky's sculpt. "Scream all you want Sergeant Barnes...You will taste defeat once your pathetic and undisciplined mind becomes the use for HYDRA to control..."_

_An electronic shock surged up his arm and he cried out the only name that him from entering submission. "Steve!"_

Bucky flinched against the wall, his shoulder blades curved upwards as he swiped his claws into the air, avoiding his friend's hand as if Steve was holding something repellent at close proximity.

Steve instantly recoiled his arm, looking at Bucky with confusion and pity. Something had definitely triggered in Bucky's mind; Steve had seen it in the cat's clouded eyes. Steve did not dare to ask what it was since it had obviously been a painful memory, but he did his best to offer his friend some peace.

"Bucky, it's alright; you're safe." Steve swallowed the emotion building in his chest and continued. "I know that they broke you, unmade and remade you many times, but they did not destroy you. I can see it in your eyes, pal: defiance. You were always stubborn, Buck. If anyone in the world can break the bonds of HYDRA, it's James Barnes. You've just got to start believing it."

Those words barely registered. He clenched his muzzle into scolding expression. Kill. Kill. Kill. He jerked his head up in a violent manner, summoning whatever pitch of humanity he had in his detained voice. "No," he snarled in harsh words, slashing his metal paw begrudgingly at the dead mouse.

The stench of decay invaded his nose. It had become all too familiar to grasp, the thickening aroma caressed over his muzzle as he stiffened, he wanted to dig his claws into his head and stop the skull pounding images from emerging from the depths of his destructive mind. "I can't change.." he panted, saliva was dripping from his blood stained fangs. "Why are you so dumb to understand that truth?"

A smile tugged at Steve's lips. "I guess it's just who I am," Steve said softly. "You know, you once said that I was too dumb to run away from a fight. You told me that's the man you were willing to follow. Believing in you, Bucky Barnes, after all that HYDRA has done might be just as dumb as not running from a fight. But that's the man I am, and its the one who saved the world. I'd rather be dumb and do what's right than smart and without honor."

"That's the stupid." he shot back with livid animosity.

"It may sound stupid, Buck." Steve released a despairing breath, "It's the only way I know how to live."

The cat fell into silence, listening to the hidden dread in his friend's voice. The earnestness and determination was matched equally by pain and remorse on his chiseled features that it struck him to know that Steve was using hope to ease the twisting and binding pain that scarred both of their souls. The pit of his emptied stomach was growing as tightening knots of coldness weaved in his veins. He knew that running wasn't an option anymore, he couldn't run and hide from the darkness, that was a motive of a coward and Bucky Barnes wasn't a man who could easily taste defeat. He had to treat the situation as a battle plan, find the enemies location and hit them hard without being unseen.

"There are a number of safe houses location within the city," he spoke with firm cadence in his voice, sounding like his old self again. "Each one as I remember has information stored in the floorboards...Usually maps and encryption codes. Nothing, that will help me stop choking up fur balls, but it's worth a shot to gather the detail we need to figure out where HYDRA's ghost files are stored. If we can obtain those files, we might have a fat chance of discovering the old hags whereabouts." He managed to give Steve a weak faltering smirk before using his claws to draw a symbol of two snakes crawling over a skull in the snow. "I remember seeing this image before ...It's still unclear what it represents, but I know that evil created it and it wasn't HYDRA..." The ting in his voice grew darker. "It was something else..."

Steve grinned, feeling warmth cascade over his sore heart. This was much more like the Bucky he knew, and that was confirmation of the hope Steve had long cherished that his friend was indeed still there and fighting against HDYRA. And not only that, but now they had a lead, and they could form a legitimate plan. Having a resolute purpose would undoubtedly help Bucky, who was trained to complete missions.

"I'll do some research and try to find out something about the image," Steve said, trying to be as encouraging as possible. "And maybe you can look at some maps of D.C. and determine where exactly these safe houses are. Once we have all the necessary intel, we can actually make some headway with Operation Disenchantment."

"Operation Disenchantment?" Bucky parroted in a rasp. "I want to keep this in a small circle." He moved his paw in the snow with circular formation. "None of your SHIELD friends need to know about this, Steve."

"Don't worry, Buck," Steve said with a slight ghost of a mild chuckle. "I just thought you might find it easier to focus on our problem if we treated it like a mission. No one else needs to know what we're doing if you don't want them to. Besides, with your inside information, we shouldn't need anyone else's help infiltrating the safe houses, right?"

"That's right, Star-Spangled shorts," Bucky joked back, moving closer to him as more flecks of snow dusted over his black fur. "I think that's what I used to call you when you put on that uniform?"

So Bucky really did remember even minute details. Steve felt tears form in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. A big smile formed on his face, and he nodded eagerly. "You did."

Steve suddenly noticed something strange as he prepared to head back to the apartment. His forehead seemed to be warmer than usual, and his body felt heavy. Perhaps he was simply tired; a plausible option considering the fact that he had not slept for more than a few hours in a while. He tried to shrug off the feeling, especially since Bucky was clearly in one of his better moods, but it seemed slightly harder to think.

"You always teased me about my uniform," Steve said, his eyes focusing on those of the cat in an attempt to keep his mind engaged in the conversation. "Some things never change, I guess."

"Yeah," Bucky snorted back, with nonchalance in his tone. "Except me."

The litany of emotions scattered across Steve's chiseled exterior. Sadness, remorse and dismay quietly reflected in the pools of his deep blue eyes as he took in Bucky's devalued words that not only diminished his him, but also his promise he made to Bucky seventy years before HYDRA created an icy division between them. A passive and unrelentling posture finally took form. The super-soldier clenched his jaw and looked down at the distress black furred creature that his best friend had become. He felt downright conquered by the foreboding sense of losing Bucky again ; it was as if a vice grip seized his chest, each moment he dared himself to stare into those eidolic eyes looking up at him with revulsion welled deep inside. Staring into the snafued soul of his friend increase the strength of dread within him.

He had failed to save Bucky the last he needed him the most. He wouldn't allow his friend to suffer again.

Steve shook his head in a silent reverence. He looked once again into the cat's blue eyes; a steely resolve gleamed inside of them. "This transformation is not going to be permanent, Buck. I know that, and I think you know it, too. " He pressed his lips into a firm line, and drew out a long breath of ease. " No matter what you say, you are just as eager about finding the reverse as I am. You wouldn't be that way unless you knew, deep down, that there's hope."

The cat did not answer Steve, but he could not deny that he did hope. Steve stood to his full height and began walking back towards his apartment. "C'mon, Bucky," he called behind him. "We could both use some lunch. Besides," Steve faced his friend and felt a weak smile tug over his lips, "Those kittens are probably missing you."

With that, Bucky nodded and ambushed Steve's massive shadow with a graceful leap out of the snow, he kept himself aloof and followed the super-soldier up the stairs, doing his utmost best to cling onto strength and not to show weakness such as tears were threatening to spill from his eyes. So distracted he was by his own thoughts he did not hear an eerie voice poisoning the air with a rancorous incantation directed to Steve until he turned around and stared at a moving shade looming in front of a parked vehicle.

He paced in front of Steve on the third step near the door, and looked down at red drops, that had been clear and unmistakable blood, "Steve?"

* * *

A/N : A big thank to my wonderful co-writer Thalion Estel and wonderful readers JuliaAurelia, Aka-Baka Hoshi, the Darkness Knight and everyone else. Forgive the grammar mistakes in this chapter. I've been so dragged out and busy these last few days, but I will edit them when I have more time. Enjoy and thank you.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

* * *

An arctic chill swept through Bucky as his eyes stared intently at the drops of blood on the steps. A passive and yet unyielding demeanor took over him. The black cat reared his head slowly, sparing a glance at the line of dribbling maroon seeping from Steve's lips. His heart plummeted inside the pit of his stomach, and he felt numbness prickle through his bones. A dark and encroaching sense started to build as stood under the super-soldier's pensive gaze of blue and cringed at the sight of blood smearing Steve's rigid chin.

"What's happening to you, punk?" he was breathless and disquieted, each drop seemed to lessen his strength as he fought to hold everything together. Gathering himself up, Bucky dropped his head back down, his mind being plagued with spiraling thoughts of torment.

He was concerned for his best friend just like he had been since they were boys surviving on their own. "Steve, are you hurt? Did something happen to you while you were jogging?"

Steve could not respond. Something was horribly wrong; everything inside of him was burning with a searing fire of unquenchable pain. His bones were slowly moving out of joint, his organs being squeezed together. His hearing was fading; he thought he might pass out. But he was not so far gone that he did not hear one of his ribs break, the sound sending a sickening wave of nausea over him.

The shock of the horror had kept him perfectly still and on his feet, but he soon found that he could not longer stand. With a high pitched moan, he crumpled forward, the pain intensifying as his body connected with the hard stair case. Black splotches began to swam in his vision, and finally his tongue was loosed. He screamed.

"Steve! No!" Bucky screeched, his words coming out with a frantic pants of breath that made him cringe. His slender body jumped one step higher as he instinctively recoiled backwards from the Steve's hand reaching to grab his limbs. Fear rent in his soul, desperation to save his friend from the torment, pain and sickness.

"Steve," he stifled a sob of intermixed despair as his widened blue eyes glanced down at the blood staining over the lingering patches of snow under his paws. Weariness and dread threatened to ensnare him along with abashed needs to satiate the growing rage burning like liquid heat in his veins. He was trapped in weaves of panic, his small form trembled against the miserable cries escaping from his best friend's lips. _No, Steve. You can't leave me. _His heart scattered into pieces, he felt useless, he felt afraid. It was no wonder why the old hag turned him into a cat, he was cold to responding with other's pain. The cat inside wanted to bolt and try to hide while the soldier-part of him that remained to be James Barnes wanted to comfort the man he loved as a little brother from fading away from him.

"Bucky-" Steve tried to hold on to the cat, hoping that the pain won't become unbidden as he felt agonizing pressure seize his organs.

"This isn't you...Stevie...You never back down from a fight." The black cat placed his furry paw on the super-solider's arm. He held a stalwart and firm posture as he anchored Steve out of the red fog, bringing him back to the light. "Come on, punk, you've gotta this pain on the ropes...I'm not stronger as you are, but I'm just as stubborn. I'm not letting you go."

Bucky leveled his eyes with Steve's tear filled blue embers. "Don't let this beat you down, Rogers." Vexation masked his desperate tone. "Come on. I never known you to be a quitter, not even when you that you were nothing. Promised myself that I would let anything happen to you. So today, I'm holding that promise true and unbreakable; you got to keep on fighting for me."

Steve could barely hear anything his friend said, but he knew he was supposed to fight this. And he did; every ounce of will power in his body was diverted to keeping himself conscious and in resistance to the curse. But slowly his strength was sapped, and his body contorted ever further. Wild instincts, foreign to Steve's mind, forced the super soldier to his feet, and he half-ran half-crawled away from the apartment's entrance. Fear caused Steve to act without thinking; all he wanted was to get away from the pain.

* * *

"Steve!"

The world swayed from side to side as Steve ran. His vision was not constant; at some moments he could see nothing at all. All he was acutely aware of was searing pain that threatened to tear him apart. He was still letting out chaotic screams, but even in his miserable state, he could tell that they were not normal. His voice was coarse and deep, almost like a beast's. This only added to Steve's trauma and fear as the tiny hope of escaping a terrible fate slipped from view.

At last, running on his two legs was no longer possible, and he tripped, sprawling on hard, biting concrete. His feverish blue eyes fluttered open for a moment, taking in the alleyway in which he had fallen. _Good_. At least no one could see him in this state. Everything felt so wrong in his body that he imagined that he looked like he'd been run over by a train. His bones were all wrong, and his muscles had been torn from their ligaments. Blood ran freely from his lips.

Finally, Steve's will, which had been pushing desperately against the transformation, gave out. Coughing blood out of his throat for one last intentional breath, he embraced the sweet darkness of unconsciousness, his tense body going limp.

"Punk," Bucky called out for his best friend. It must of looked utterly ridiculous to the eyes of the public as the cat jumped off the steps, smacked his paws hard on the ice encased cement sidewalk and hissed tersely at the passing humans staring him down. "What are you looking at, jerk?" In the thick of emotions, he managed to swipe a paw at a letter carrier's pant leg.

His blood run hot and his vision swarm red in his burning state of strength and rage. His enhanced senses caught a vague whiff of blood and sweat that only fueled his predatory instincts as he quickly advance to the super-soldier's current position. His stomach sunk as he cautiously followed the footprints leading him to the narrow alleyway. Despite his senses zapping his blood like live wire, his ears picked up the sound of a monstrous growl coming from the umbra of row of upturned garbage cans. His blood went cold with realization as horror struck him down where he stood, and his eyes grew enlarged at the sight of Steve's large and twisted hand flopping in the snow.

"Steve," he whispered with heavy pants of breath; approaching the laden and marred body in front of him. "Can you hear me, pal?"

Steve's eyes snapped open against his will; the lovely oblivion of unconsciousness quickly speeding away. The pain returned, piercing his sense with new ferocity. He clenched his eyes shut and let out a long groan, though it sounded more like a low growl. As he clamped his jaws together, he felt something different about his mouth. His teeth were sharper than they had been, almost like fangs. Curiosity overcame the desire to curl up into a tight ball and shut out the pain, so Steve opened his eyes and looked at his outstretched arm.

Only it wasn't a hand any longer.

His fingers had shrunken and changed-were still changing-into small digits with claws. His arm was covered in golden course hair; in fact, it was fur. Were it not for Bucky's current state, Steve's mind would have totally rejected the information his eyes were relaying. However, he knew that this must be a result of the curse. He was transforming.

Though he could not see it, he could feel his bones and muscles moving into permanent places. The actions seemed tortuously slow and indescribably painful, the agony going on and on as Steve's body tried to conform to its new pattern. Last of all, Steve's skull gradually got smaller and smaller, pushing his brain and causing the utmost suffering. Finally he simply lost consciousness, unable to endure sensation any longer.

"Steve don't worry I'll find..."

The black cat reared unsteady step backwards with dishearten meow as Steve's massive paw did a vicious swipe at him. He could see the primal distress cloaking over his friend's blue embers that used to gaze back at him brotherly and determined. His angelic and chiseled face once a symbol of hope was being mortified into one of beast's exterior. His sharp canines bared as the smell of metallic laced with copper thickened in the snowy haze engulfing over their disheveled forms.

"No..." Steve released a breathless plea of what sounded like defeat. Everything began to whirl around him, sadistic voices, screaming of men being tortured.

Dark figures emerged from the recesses of his mind. He spared a glance down, and saw coppery- golden fur spreading over his arms, consuming his unblemished flesh, and hiding the vigorous muscle mass under the material of his clothing, coating his shaky hands and covering his massive body.

Constricting fire raked over his neck. Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. His legs buckled. He enclosed his arms over his compacted abdomen. He writhed against the ground on his flat palms, and knees. Trepidation pounded like a hammer against his skull, numbness surged through his bones, he tried to look up at Bucky, instead all he saw were blurry blogs of gray.

"Buck…" He released a voice with a great of distress, lifting up a paw to reach for the cat like he had become his anchor while feeling like he was being swallowed up by ground underneath him.

Bucky felt the worming sensations churn within his tensed stomach. It was easily attributed by foreboding knots of dread, but then the sensations thickened in his veins, as he watched the super-soldier diminishing in size, still bigger than his feline body, almost canine..._Canine_, Bucky thought with alarm as he recoiled and collided with the rough cement of the wall. He knew Steve had been attacked, his body compromised by the same form of morbid enchanted-either way he knew they weren't intimidating and powerful soldiers anymore. Just a couple of strays for HYDRA to collect and cage.

The cat parted his jaws, tongue felt thick when his spoke, "Okay, the important thing to do now…is to remain calm, Rogers."

Steve's deformed face tightened in agony; he screwed his eyelids shut, and coughed and gagged. His body fat decreased, thick muscles dissolved into slender limbs. Solidified claws emerged into bubbling fists of squirming flesh and fur, paws curled and contorted. "Remain calm?" he dejected, unleashing a abysmal growl which emitted from the back of his throat.

He felt the stirring of the animal inside him, a separate mind and will of his own awaking. He lowered his face into the ground as he felt the beast awaken underneath his flesh as it began to stir inside his throbbing bones. He felt his skin alternately become tight as the beast inside him shifted him around looking for a means of escape.

Steve creased his drenched brow, his tightened stomach fashioned sounds of torment. He gnashed his teeth, clamping his mouth shut, and grumbled under his erratic breath. His chest heaved with every forceful inhale and exhale.

"This is not a gunshot wound, Buck, it's something different. I never felt this way before…Is this what it felt for you?" He gritted, lowering his face into his torso, pained tears rolled over his temples. He whimpered like a dog in agony, his ears grew, and sharpened against shorten locks of blonde-ashen hair.

Bucky shot him a mystified stare watching his pointy ears moving upwards against the sides of his skull; his blue eyes grew wide enough, that they threatened to pop out of his sockets. "Steve…You're ears…They're…"

"I KNOW!" he snarled back, seething breath against his new set of canines, and instantly lifted his arm over his face. He tried to haul his weight back onto an uprooted stance, but instead the enchantment left him grounded on the dirt. His slender arms stretched out forward, nails grew out from his boots and merged into silver claws, and feet morphed into massive paws of an animal.

Steve winced, feeling the slope of his pointed nose break, blood dribbled over his lips. His nose crunched in the skin, and stretched into the length of a canine snout. His lungs exploded into a scream of dread, as eyes blurred with stinging tears. He lowered his head down once again, panting harsh intakes of air. He hissed, in the thrall of the painful transformation.

His bones twisted underneath his muscle and voice now carried a hint of a bewildered whimper. He staggered backwards, rubbing his side against the can of garbage; and he listened to a cold, merciless wind echo in his ears.

"Bucky, you have to get out here!" He growled in hardened distress, his backside burned as a golden bushy tail emerged from his pants. He looked at the black cat with tear filled eyes as his own eyes blurred and morphed into moonlit icy blue. "No," he roared, desperately trying to convince himself it was a nightmare.

A vile nightmare.

"I'm right here..." Bucky returned in a gentle tone. He knew there was a small possibly of a division between them, since Steve was turning into a dog and he was cat. The result of the aftermath could become dangerous. "I'm just keeping my distance."

Steve struggled to his knees, screaming in shrills in pain as he started to decrease in his straining abdomen. His once well-defined rock hard muscles were changed into furry patches of primal muscle. He pointed his head upwards to the sky; he smelt his own blood dripping him his brow as his body continued to evolve in horror. The once gorgeous, sharp, chiseled featured, and determined, resilient soldier-the First Avenger was being diminished into a dog.

Maybe he would be lucky, and survive a few nights without bullets from HYDRA snipers flying against his hide, and maybe he'd find way to free himself and Bucky from the curse.

Steve knew it was a form of wrathful magic almost the kind of stuff HYDRA searched over during the years of war—no science in a bottle could transform a fully grown man into a canines in matter of minutes. Then he realized as his torrent thoughts raced in his mind that the Avengers—Stark, Natasha, Thor, Bruce Banner—and his best friend, Bucky Barnes who be lost with Captain America leading them into the jaws of battle. He couldn't leave Bucky, not when the reformed Winter Soldier still needed his guidance. If he was trapped in this new vessel—he knew they would make him nonexistent in their memories—turn both him and Bucky into ghosts.

"I'm not leaving you, Steve." Bucky promised, watching the last vestiges of Steve's humanity become ensnared by the curse.

Finally, Steve felt his exhausted, slender body given into defeat, he rolled onto his back, his limbs shortened, as he desperately clawed at his shirt, and allowed his new golden coat to breathe. His head hit the ground, hair grew to his shoulders, and formed a mane touching his mid-back. His chest narrowed, neck thickened and aligned with his muscular frame. His lips fastened into a muzzle, and nose changed black and wet. His voice strained, becoming wild, and laced with fury as protested against the merciless curse engulfing his soul.

* * *

"Bucky…" Steve panted as he continued to change; his face and mouth grew out into a full cream furred wolf muzzle. He lifted up on front paw, and tried to reach out for him.

"Don't lose yourself….Urgh…Don't lose who you are, Buck," he choked out, and thrashed wildly as his slender body contorted, shifted and changed into muscular shape of a full size dog. The modern day Adonis, compassionate, and defiant soldier from Brooklyn was gone, all that stood on four legs was a displaced 89 pound dumbfounded husky mix. The only glimmers of his former self were the deep crystal blue eyes in his livid eyes and a white star in the center of his chest.

The woozy male dog struggled on his large paws, sniffing the air as he lifted his angular snout to the aloof feline. His blurry eyes narrowed at the pile of tattered and scraped clothing on the ground. The only remaining pieces of his humanity.

Steve moved closer to the cat, and nuzzled his face against Bucky's tensed shoulders, "Easy, Buck. I'm still here." He spoke in serene voice, and felt his heart beating wildly. "I'm not going to attack if that's what your thinking, pal?"

"If you can stop drooling on my fur I'll believe you, punk." Bucky flippantly responded, wishing for the feeling of his rifle inside of his hands...Paws...even his metal one. He wanted to hunt down and kill the hag who placed the dark hex on them. He wanted revenge. "I hope you have a plan, Steve, because I'm about to snuff out the witch's spark life with my claws...You do have a plan or are you too busy dealing with your fleas?"

"Fleas?" Steve growled in a quite and concerned voice, but was then slashed with a brush of frustration. He was trying to piece everything together. His vision was still bleary from the after effects of the transformation. His muzzle crinkled a bit as he gaped at the cat, "Just because we look different..." He cleared his throat, and narrowed his light blue eyes at his large paws. His heart plummeted in his stomach, and yet, he felt a shred of grace land back inside of his new body. Even through he wouldn't admit that it had become devastating for his resilient spirit to feel trapped inside a half-breed, he managed to hold a small illusion of a broken smile. His blue eyes shined with tears that leaked over his fur.

The golden furred husky stalked closer, and placed his paw on the cat's arched back, Bucky jerked a little in response of contact."It doesn't change the soldier's that we are, Buck. Fleas or no fleas." he spoke with a resolute firmness in his voice. "We have to treat this curse has a mission. We know the price of freedom will high, but I'm willing to pay any measure of it just to give you back a life to call your own once again, pal."

"How could this happen to us, Steve?" Bucky let out a small tearful sob. "I can understand that I deserve this busy my past...You're a good a man, the best I've ever known. I don't understood why they targeted you with this stupid curse. You can pretend be strong and brave as Captain America, and believe in all the crap about hope..." He hissed against his needled point fangs. "Once you feel the betrayal of your mind...There will be no going back...No more shield. Nothing...You'll be a mutt without name someone can call back to you when you're lost in the streets-"

"I don't want to hear that," Steve cut him off, barring his canines. He couldn't even process his words. He was too absorbed with the realization that him and Bucky will be stuck as animals for the rest of their days. He turned his head away as he stared blankly at street It was almost like for the first time in seventy years his strength left him.

"Stop being a hard ass, Rogers," Bucky told him flatly, with dampened eyes. "Just stop pretending that you save the world. We're not soldiers anymore. Just fur balls who can't survive with adapting. You're a big, and warm dog and I'm a cat shivering in his own fur. If we want to finish this mission, we need to have each others backs."

Steve shook the despair from his head, trying to think straight. It was no use accepting defeat. Turning to his friend, his heaved out a sigh.

"You're probably right, Buck," Steve said quietly. "I might lose everything and become a worthless and friendless mutt on the streets. But if I believe that, my fate as such is sealed. I remember my mom used to say that if you believe you'll fail, you will. I have to cling to hope, Bucky. It may be that the odds of us reversing this curse are a thousand to one. But that just means that there is a chance.

"I've heard from a reliable source that in the end, only three things remain: faith, hope and love. If together we have all three of them, I bet our odds of beating this curse are better than a thousand to one. And if you don't trust hope Bucky, then at least trust me. I am your Captain, after all."

Bucky saw everything beyond the canine's piercing stare, all his pain and delusions of hidden truth he tried to keep veiled. Steve had always been indomitable, steadfast and brave when engaging any situation.

Steve was invincible, but to Bucky he was still just that little shrimp who he used to huddle against the cushions of their makeshift forts, and sleep with ease nothing that his friend was protecting him every hour. It was his job to take care of Steve, a lifetime vow to ensure that he would solely guard him trough the thick of battle.

Seeing, Steve trapped in a new body, a broad muscled canine with striking ice blue eyes and a bushy tail, had been the biggest feeling of weakness he had ever felt. It was still unbelievable that he been transformed and that his best friend carried the weight of the curse with him as well. He need to hold on to the hope in his friend's voice and never break the unerring loyalty they shared as blood brother. He had to take on the mantle of a soldier again; fight against the odds and forged a new dynamic with Steve.

Bucky looked at the dog again, feeling a jolt of power. Over the low brush of frosty wind rattling through his bones, he sensed another familiar presence somewhere in the city. It was a feeling he only grasped during those days when he had been wounded, tortured and broken. It lulled him to move near a stairwell, he jumped on a step, and continued climbing until he reached a high point. Of course, he wasn't fretting about the height.

Steve's protective blue orbs stared up with a puzzling face, and tried to grab the cat's attention, "Buck, what's wrong?" he asked with concern, but Bucky was being stubborn as ever.

All the Winter Soldier felt in those moments was flame burning inside him, a source of warmth and recollection to extinguish the awful, painful doubt within him, doing his best to resistant his awaken emotions as his blue eyes; he passively gazed out, and beyond the wintry world around him. One name -a beautiful name that became his hope and freedom in the dark bowels of HYDRA, it escaped from his mouth as his heart pounded with urgency to find her.

"Anna..." His moisten eyes fell to the descending snowflakes.

* * *

**A/N: I just to say thank to my wonderful co-writer for bring Steve's character to life. And, to all my readers for enjoying this city. Please don't mind the grammar mistakes. I've just been very busy this past week. Enjoy and thank very much.**


	14. Chapter 14

**{Chapter 14}**

* * *

_"James," he heard her gentle voice whisper in the haze of falling snow. The cold air ripped through the Kevlar material of his jacket as his soul moaned to feel her touch. Her delicate hands splayed over his broad chest, radiating heat within rigid muscle. Warmth spread into his skin. The remnant of feverish sweat slicked over the path of her stroking fingers. They were close- alone and free from disapproving and inhumane eyes of HYDRA. He couldn't help it, he stared deeply into her coffee pools of shadow and pain. To kiss her would be forbidden, since he wanted to seal those three words: I love you, making them sear on her full scarlet lips, and he wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but given the circumstances of their life, she was just an asset -a slave._

_He took a step back, feeling unbalanced, and out matched by his betraying emotions. The aching sense of attachment wouldn't leave him be, and he bit hard on his lip. Her pulse elevated. Confusion masked over his pale blue irises as he drank her lithe and curvaceous body inward. Black leather, combat boots and long mahogany hair billowing off her trim shoulders. She was a dream-freedom and life._

_"Is everything alright with you," she asked with a evident tone; and gave him an inscrutable stare, breaking through his steely mask of stubbornness. "You seem quieter than usual..."_

_A cold touch of winter was reachable to his heart; he closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, breath seized in his chest, and then he __swallowed, recollecting himself. A misty look took his indignant eyes. "I'm fine."_

_Anna mashed her teeth into her bottom lip, unwillingly chancing another step forward. After a heartbeat her chest softly collided with his Kevlar armor. "I know when you're lying to me."_

_He ignored her, pushing her away from the danger. His eyes started to burn again as he looked over her shoulder, catching glimpses of encroaching headlights reflecting against the mounds of snow barriers around them, and threaded his metal fingers in the mass of her dark hair, he drooped his gaze down and then he stared wondrously into her coffee orbs._

_ He had to let her go._

_"I scouted a clear passage for you to take. They won't see you slip into the shadows, Anna."_

_"Come with me, James," Anna implored, her brown eyes gleaming with desperation. "You have given everything...It's time to run."_

_His obscured face became stoic, heart fluttered with hesitation. "If I run they will kill you...I can't risk your life. This is your chance of freedom and I suggest you take it." He fastened a pistol into a leather strap buckled across her hip. "It doesn't have much fire power, but it keep you safe when engaging with the enemy. Remember one bullet in the head and another in the chest-easy points of entry." He clasped his arms around her trim waist, holding her securely against him. His torso jerked with spasms, and his face creased with unbidden anguish. His full lips pressed into a colorless line as he looked into her darkened eyes. The fight of regret and anger bled out of him-he didn't want to watch her disappear. "Always keep your emotions in check..."_

_She didn't answer him at first. She closed her eyes and lay her gloved hand over his unshaven jaw. "Likewise."_

_He looked at her with deaden blue eyes, the light had been sucked into the black abyss of his gaze. Taking a step back, he whispered out a promise, becoming more self-aware for his devotion towards her. " I will find you..." Inside, the man-James Barnes, HYDRA tried to butcher refused to live another lifetime of being alone. It cut into him deep knowing that he didn't prove his love to Anna, he would lose her._

_A dull and hollow pain split into his chest._

_Anna leaned forward, brushing his sweaty tresses off hair of his broad forehead, and pressed a warm kiss over his chilled skin. He blinked, didn't speak, and she looped her arms over his shoulders. Embracing him for a long moment to feel his heart beating against her. "And I'll be waiting as always."_

* * *

It took him awhile to grasp his feline existence; he felt like a marred stray, looming the streets and gathering information of programmed memory. He wasn't the same soldier. He was a nameless wraith; detached from the world around him. His blue eyes turned gray under the ambiance of shadow, and his slender body moved through the cracks and barricades of his new world. He felt isolated. His friend's words calmed his restless spirit for a little awhile, but he knew the rudimentary of truth-he wasn't to change back into his five-eleven stature of intimation and enhanced strength. He wasn't going to find the woman he loved, she was a ghost to him. Sadly as it seemed, he needed to focus on the mission-protecting those mewling and motherless babies from any threatening force. He knew they were defenseless and small; they wouldn't survive with him-unless he found a female cat and allowed her to raise them. It was the only option he had left-he wasn't father material.

_You're a hybrid of organic and inorganic perfection._

Whoever he was before-James Buchanan Barnes, that man was gone. He was cursed; his senses had been altered to inhale toxic plumes of steel, blood and gun powder. That's all consumed him was flames of hatred the burned through his bones as remorse ignited inside. The only thing which kept him from falling deeper into the void with the gentle warmth of Steve's massive canine body. He could hear voices around him, but the waves of human connection failed after another veritable assault of mind-numbing laspes of confusion.

_You're name is James Buchanan Barnes._

Under the shadow of the incognito transformed super-soldier, Bucky tilted his head up, training his icy blue orbs on the rattling fire escape. He couldn't abandon the kittens; they are young and defenseless. It felt stupid-uncharacteristic to his hard core exterior that he cared for the mewling and motherless babies. He questioned his own malice filled heart, thinking maybe it was test of restoring his humanity.

Right now, Bucky was downright lost -reaching an impasse of choice and action; he had made a promise to the kittens that he would protect them. A soldier never breaks his promise, no matter the cost.

Releasing a frustrated breath, colored by vexation he looked back at the golden furred husky. A dog, and also a cat's worst enemy, but not Steve. He knew that his best friend would never turn on him.

"Are you okay?" Steve pestered, wobbling closer, barely remaining on all fours.

Bucky gave a stoic nod, fighting the urge to give into despair. He looked into the light blue of the dog as he parted his jaws and executed out his plan. "We need to those little fur balls out of your flat. They are a distraction to this mission; I need you to scout the area and find me a female." He paused for a moment deadpanning, and then staring into the daring gleam in his friend's bright eyes. "Hey," he seethed, fur raising. "I know what you're thinking, punk. I'm not looking a feline dame to play cat and mouse with, I need a female to become a mother for them. It's the least I can do.."

The dumbfounded husky nodded absently at the black feline, weakness of the curse affected his body. His bulky mass trembled against the frigid air. Despite having layers of fur, he was still cold from the aftermath of the transformation. His willpower was collapsing as foreign thoughts of chasing a tennis ball, picking though garbage and begging for scraps from local restaurants invaded his mind. He need something to chew on-the control his urges. "Okay," he panted out, wildly. "So, you're plan is...kittens and mother cat...safety?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much all I've got, dog breath." Bucky teased, glancing back at the fire escape and busy street around them.

It was a matter of habit that stuck with him since he operated alone on missions on maintaining visible contact for the acquired target from concealed places of ruined buildings, rooftops and balconies. His was a highly skilled marksman used for -fieldcraft, infiltration, special reconnaissance and target acquisition. His stealth and efficient methods of eliminating governmental figure heads was legendary in the KBG files-he was an assassin and enforcer. He was the Winter Soldier ( Зимний Солдат).

"I think we should take the stairs that lead to the balcony. I'm not sure if my body is agile enough for the climb. I'm much bigger than you, Buck." he said, cocking his head to the stairway, he was making it obvious of his size compared to Bucky's sleek cat form.

"Not a problem, Cap. I can do this mission alone. Just watch my back," Bucky sighed out, long and deep. He balanced on his paws, raring into pounce and springing stance. He scanned the area for what seemed like the thousandth time with his sharp eyes, he waited for his muscles and pulse to become in sync.

His long tail swayed over the snow, hind legs sprang back and he shot off the stairs like a bullet leaving a gun. He avoided any unseen glares of stray dogs lurking in the alleyway and took a powerful leap over three steps, thrusted forwards by his small limbs and climbed the last row of steps. With another wide span jump, he landed on his feet and hauled his slender form up to the balcony ready to stalk to the glass doors-until a his elusive presence had been sighed by a scruffy white poodle, obstructing him over his objective point.

Extracting out a threatening hiss, Bucky arched his wilted back up and retracted his claws as he positioned himself into a defense stance of attack. He trained his rabid and darkened blue eyes on the small dog. "Listen, pal, this is one cat you don't want to mess with..." he warned, holding his ground in front of the annoying mutt yipping at him. To much of his chagrin, Bucky surpassed his feral instincts, and swiped his paw into the snow, dusting the poodle with a chilling response."Make another move and I will show why a mutt should never corner a cat," he dared.

The sound of clicking claws sounded from the stairwell as the husky raced up the steps. Steve soon reached the top and bared his teeth at the yipping white dog, his hair standing up on his neck and back. He let out a good series of fierce barks, trying to both scare the poodle and distract his own mind. His instincts were begging him to tear the scruffy rat to shreds.

"Shut up and get out," he growled at the poodle, taking a threatening step towards it.

The cowardly dog let out a yelp of fright at the massive husky's approach and scrambled to get traction against the slick ground before sprinting away in the opposite direction, howling in fright all the way. Steve couldn't help but give his friend a cocky smile as the whines of the poodle fell out of earshot.

"You're welcome," he said, his chin high in mock pride.

"I had him on the ropes..." It was the first thing Bucky said, with a irritable hiss rattling through his vocals, before a small cocksure smirk cracked his muzzle, which veiled a hint of brotherly gratitude.

"I know you did," replied Steve, glancing down at his friend with memories flooding his thoughts. Looking into Bucky's blue eyes, Steve could almost forget all that had happened to them, even now. Bucky was still his brother, and nothing could ever change that.

"You want me to stay here or go with you?" Steve asked, turning his mind back to the mission.

Bucky released a slow breath. "Did you lock the balcony door?" he unnervingly asked, lifting his metal paw off the wooden boards, and then retracted his claws out. "Knowing you, I'm guessing you did, which means I have to break in your flat by my own methods." He roved his steely eyes, and regarded the to the glass doors with an uncertain gaze, before snapping his vision back to his paw. "It should be easy enough..."

"Yes, I did lock it," Steve replied, trying to hide the fact that he was glad Bucky felt knowledgeable enough to predict his patterns, even ones as small as locking doors. "Try not to make too much noise; barking dogs is one thing, but broken glass could startle a neighbor. Be careful."

Bucky stiffened his posture, " Do you trust me, Steve?" he asked, his voice sincere, but fading with doubt.

"Of course I do, Buck," Steve said, his voice as adamant as his statement. "I only wanted to remind you to be cautious." A smirk crept up Steve's face, and he again assumed a sarcastic tone. "We both know how flighty and inclined to ridiculousness you can be, my friend."

Bucky gritted his fangs, his blue eyes burned with fever. He swerved his body close to the doors, baiting out a heated breath of bottled aggression as his metal claws sliced over the glass. He fought against rage clotting in his veins, and whispered with calamity laced in his throat. "When the hag or whatever she is called placed this rotten curse on me-I ever imagined you would become apart of this fight." He moved his paw in a circular motion, shift and precise as the metal etched in the glass-creating a hole big enough for him to fit his slinky body through to grab the kittens.

"It's always been about the next mission...Not about suffering in this body." He deadpanned out a hardened breath. He dared a glance at his reflection-all that stared back at him as a visage of a ebony furred cat with a tinge of brown to resemble a small mane. The only familiar of his human self with the icy blue eyes and metal limb. "I can't give up the fight..There's always hope. "He turned his head and looked at the husky with a humble gleam...You taught me that, punk."

"But you taught it to me long before, back we were just a couple of kids in Brooklyn," Steve returned, his smile lighting up his whole furry face. "And you also lived it out. There was never a bully that could beat me up without you coming to the rescue. You were hope for me; as good a friend as they come. And now, we've got to be hope for each other. If we can do that, this mission will be a piece of cake."

"I can see you're following your gut," Bucky derided back, straightening up on his hind legs, and encompassing his paws against the glass. He pressed hard, but the thick panes wouldn't budge. Grumbling under his breath, "I'm thinking I miscalculated my body weight and the thickness of the glass." His expression fell disquiet. "Great, where's a gun when you need one..."

"I'm heavier; want me to do it?" Steve inquired, asking the obvious.

There was the disturbance of sound -approaching danger marching on the ice covered sidewalk and the clinking of guns as bullets jingled inside the hollow steel.

They were being hunted.

"Steve wait a second..." Bucky gasped, sensing impending danger. He drew a deep breath. There was a hidden truth behind the availing circumstance. He figured it all out. Corruptible. His breath hitched in the back of his throat; confused, but not blind to scheme HYDRA was playing against them. Extraction. Super soldier blood. Project: Rebirth. It was all making sense-the reason of the transformation was to pump Steve dry -drain the serum when he was not in human form.

When he couldn't fight with his fists and shield. "Steve, listen to me..." Bucky hissed, struggling on his paw and biting his lip. "This is a trap. You're the target, the one they want." He digressed, not a hint of lenience. He cocked his head to the direction of the alley and gave a sour snarl. "You need to get out here quick as possible once you break the glass. Find a safe house and wait for me. I can't explain it. You need to trust me...It's a risk," he shrugged. "I'm used to playing the dangerous game."

"I never run from a fight, Buck," Steve breathed.

Every single part of the super-soldier rejected the idea of leaving Bucky. How could he afford to risk loosing his friend, especially with danger around? But he trusted both Bucky's instincts and his plans. And obeying without argument would help to strengthen Bucky's belief that Steve was willing to put faith in him. He nodded.

"Please! For me?" Bucky lowly pleaded with his ghostly blue eyes. "You're not in top shape to fight-" He lowered his head, and flattened his metal paw over the boards. With a surge of distilled pain, erupting inside him in its unrelenting form he shook slender body, trying to ease the knots of dread churning in his blood flow. "Listen to me..." Bucky finished in a gravelly voice; his eyes focused on the darkened apartment. "I've got your back. Now do what you do best, and get out of here!"

"Okay," Steve breathed fearfully, muzzle wrinkled with harrowing dread and his heart sped up. His sharpened senses tried to ascertain the danger Bucky had noticed. It felt like old time with his Brooklyn brother. They are ensnared into another battlefront. Freedom and surival was at a high cost. He had to take a stand. At the moment blood in his veins was brewing despair. "But what safe house should we meet at?" he asked quickly, not wanting to waste any time. As he waited for a reply, he took a few steps back to gain momentum for his coming shove against the glass.

"Anywhere." Bucky replied, his voice laden with panic, watching the glass scatter over the floor. He had an entrance. "Just find a place with a roof. I'll find you."

The husky nodded quickly and immediately dashed off. He sprinted down the stairs, and although he did not see anything out of place, he did begin to feel a sense of dread, as though a danger were hanging over him. He crossed a street, causing a car to screech to a halt. The sound hurt his ears, but he ignored both it and the fact that nearly been run over. He needed to focus. His eyes squinted as he tried to locate any place matching Bucky's request.

Steve thought he would never spot a roof upon which he could climb; but finally he spotted a building that would suit him. An apartment about three blocks away from his own had a fire escape reaching all the way to the top, and he headed towards it as fast as he could. The alleyway smelled of rotting trash, and for a moment, Steve's instinct wanted him to sniff out and examine the exact specimens contained in the broken down dumpster. He shoved these ideas aside as soon as they appeared, and he instead focused on the stairs.

The building was several stories high, and it took a few minutes to reach the top. But at last Steve scrambled over the edge and sat down, his tongue hanging out as he panted heavily. When he had rested a couple minutes, he stood to his feet and carefully neared the edge of the roof, looking down on the street and trying to see his own apartment building, hoping that he would get a glimpse of either the source of danger or Bucky.

He saw neither.

* * *

Bucky was extra cautious.

In silent and ghostly steps he moved through the apartment. Trepidation was running livid through his tiny skull; he stalked closer to the gleaming shield prompted against the wall. His metal paw slowly traced over the alloy and eagerly lifted it to the center star. He felt failure prick in his veins-his best friend was everything he wanted to become-a good soldier, friend and protector. He remembered fragments of memory of him and Steve huddled, and shivering together under a threadbare of blankets in their makeshift fort in his old bedroom in Brooklyn. He hated it when the little punk was ill with asthma or the constant threat of pneumonia or rheumatic fever the purged Steve's small heart with an irregular beat. There had been a heaviness on his heart-doubt and fear that Steve wouldn't survive the night. Through their struggles of living alone, they never lost faith into each other, yeah, they had it rough at time-empty stomachs and melting candles as light, but he fought his way through the endless haze of poverty,and gave Steve a better home and sacrificed his dreams to ensure that his best friend prevailed to fight another day.

_You ain't going to quit on me, punk._

Scanning his trained blue eyes around the massive bed, he noticed a heap of blankets thrown to one side and a little black paws poking out. _Targets found_. The Winter Soldier persona of his mind affirmed as he advanced closer to the prime objective point.

"Hey," his vacant voice slurred into a tentative whisper; he lowered his body and waited for the dozy kittens to awake from their nap. To his stubborn and impatient digression, they didn't budge-almost like they were purposely ignoring him. "Both of you come here now, that's an order." he sounded with firmness coloring his deep voice.

It brought back memories of when he was the young defiant and watchful sergeant of the 107th infantry division-Dum Dum Dugan, Gabe, Falsworth, raiding a small Italian town under seized by German forces.

_"Fall back, Dugan. They've got us covered!" Sergeant Barnes affronted, diving into a mud filled ditch as blue flame engulfed the murky terrain. His face was slopped with mud as his blue eyes locked on the rolling tanks swerving their big guns towards the blockade of his battalion. He blinked the haze out of his feverish gaze-staring at a weird symbol painted on the black metal-HYDRA. "We've got to move...There's no sense of staying in this mud hole like sitting ducks waiting for reinforcements." He turned to Gabe, and pointed his frigid hand at the radio pack. "Call it in..."_

_"Bucky, behind you." Dugan yelled in hurried response, as he straightened his brain bucket over his large (thick) skull, and ducked into the trench. He pulled out a grenade from a compartment in his vest, and pulled out the pin with his gritted teeth. Once Barnes gave him the nod, "I hate these guys," he digressed out a long sigh, and the tossed the explosive clear and in front of a line of German soldiers closing in on their position._

_The young sergeant rammed his back against the solid wall, every muscle in his protested against the awakening pain. Blood dribbled from his nose and over the arch of his firm lips as he felt the aftershock of an concussive blast vibrate through the hollow ground. This was a suicide mission. They were unprepared and the last line of defense between the Nazi empire. He felt the guilt prick in his bones. He had led these good men to their demise-the burden of their lives felt like dead weight on his shoulders. This was the price of freedom-the sacrifice to hold a barrier of the Atlantic and Pacific._

_ In these dire moments, his defiant spirit became downgraded as he listened to the screams of young soldiers echo in the thickness of smoke. He needed a sliver of hope to break him out of the illusions of death-he needed skinny and stubborn headed Steve Rogers to led him out of this hellhole he had fallen into to when he offered his body and heart to the uniform. Reclaiming his strength, as he looked at the scribble the little punk gave to him of an eagle holding the American Flag in it's talons, Barnes cracked a weak smile on his face, and chuckled hollowly-Steve always had his back. "Dugan, we need haul our boys out. I do cover fire..."_

_"Bucky, don't be fool. You'll never survive one of those blasts." Dugan shot back, shielding his massive body over Gabe Jones as they climbed up the trench wall, ducking and avoiding the blinding canon blasts of a unknown weapon turning men into piles ash within seconds. He set his gray eyes on Barnes, and then shook his head. "If I don't see you trailing behind...I'm coming back and pulling your stupid behind out of here. I mean it Barnes..."_

_The dark haired soldier felt a cocky smirk ghost over his mud swathed lips. "That's one thing you should know about Brooklyn boys..We're always stupid."_

After a few moments of fighting his tetchy nature, Bucky descried the small kitten gingerly crawling out of her hiding spot. Her icy blue eyes locked on him as she cocked her head and meowed for her brother to awake up. Inside his feline vessel, Bucky felt his heart twinge as he crept with slow steps to the blankets and looked at the babies with intense malignant of harrow. Bucky wanted to feel accepted. He wanted purpose too, and identity-something he could have without the barriers of HYDRA blockading around him.

Taking a shaky breath, Bucky redeemed his pledge and quickly grabbed the female with his jaws, lifting her from the confides of warmth, and then scooped up the sleeping male-carrying both kittens in his mouth the cat darted out of the apartment the moment he heard a voices-familiar and gruff Russian tones executing orders outside the door.

* * *

Steve heard the whiz before he felt the impact of the dart. As soon as he felt the tiny needle pierce through his thick skin, he instinctively rolled back, away from the street. But by then, it was too late. Quickly glancing down, he saw the dark sticking into his right shoulder. He bent down his head and pulled out the offending shaft, though he knew by the sudden change in his thinking and vision that whatever had been in the needle was already invading his bloodstream.

Many thoughts raced through his head, but it was now so hard to think that he could hardly focus on any one idea. Since he'd been shot with a dart rather than a bullet, he was probably reacting to some sort of tranquilizer, not a fatal poison. That was both good news and bad news. Good that he wasn't about to die. Bad that he was about to loose himself to unconsciousness while in the presence of enemies who both knew where he was and obviously wanted to get him.

His vision was fading quickly, but he still had enough function to move sluggishly toward the steps. He looked over the edge and was able to see two armed agents at the bottom of the stair case he had climbed. They were on their way up.

With what resolve and strength he had left, Steve quickly searched for possible escape routes. He was comforted by the fact that he was still conscious. The serum must be at least somewhat resistant to tranquilizers, though that would hardly matter if he was shot again. To his dismay, Steve found no way off the roof besides jumping, and he wasn't about to go out that way. Instead, he hobbled back to the side of the building with the fire escape and waited.

The first HYDRA agent was not expecting any sort of resistance, so he was unprepared for the fierce, though uncoordinated attack that Steve launched against him as soon as he appeared on the roof. The husky sank his teeth deep into the man's leg, and he thrashed out wildly with his paws, trusting that he would at least inflict some damage. He let out a loud, gargled howl in hopes that it might alert Bucky to the danger.

As he had expected, his fight was short lived. Another dart just like the first suddenly hit him in one of his hind legs, and his strength was sapped. His heavy, muscular body wobbled for second before crashing to the ground. His eye lids felt so heavy, and soon darkness consumed his vision. His last thought was a prayer that Bucky would get away.

"Bucky," he moaned, giving one last effort to rise. He could not stir. "Bucky," he said again, though the word was slurred as he fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

**A/N: A big thank- you to all the readers and followers. A huge thank- you to my amazing co-writer. Enjoy.**


	15. Chapter 15

**{Chapter 15}**

* * *

Bucky carried the kittens in his mouth, stalking through the darkness of the city, navigating the many twisting passageways, sidewalks and backstreets at dangerous speed. He rapidly sprinted, down the narrow alleyways, avoiding the obstruction of heaps of decomposing trash that smelt of rotten fish and something his mind couldn't detect. He stuck to the shadows, black fur blended well of the surroundings, trying to find somewhere he was sure Steve would be hidden.

He tried to distance himself from the main streets, to keep the babies safe from the danger, and kept to the vacant parts until he reached a point of being untraceable. He tried searching for a safe house, shelter them from the unseen eyes of HYDRA.

The bad part of the city.

Exhaling shakily, Bucky stumbled upon a decaying stairway attached to derelict condemned apartment, with broken windows, such boarded with split wooden planks that covered and plugged the gaps. The walls appeared to be crumbling into shards, the brickwork shoddy and breaking off the rotting foundation.

The wooden steps were uneven and unsafe, boards were missing. The roof was collapsing—swallowed inward with broken beams hanging within the web of wires poking from the makeshift plaster. It wasn't fit to even enter—he was certain rats didn't even scurry inside. But somehow he knew it was the only shelter to conceal himself from the outside and from the armed operatives trailing his movements.

He couldn't pick up Steve's scent for some odd reason, almost like cold air had erased it. Quickly, he darted up the stairs which lead to the second floor, to a small balcony which served as a resting spot as he gently placed the kittens down. Knots of dread twisted in his veins which generated from the high levels of panic and adrenaline he withheld from the moment he heard familiar voices speaking in Russian outside of Steve's flat.

He leaned against the step, blue eyes focused, and slender body pressed against the wood. His rigid muscles seized under the drenched fur as sleet covered the area with frail wetness. His long tail twitched and curled against his hind legs. He listened to audible rumbles of their bellies, and instinctively lowered his head down, nudging their bodies with his muzzle.

Resisting to feel his affectionate side emerge within contact of their tiny faces pushing against him. "Stay still!" Bucky insisted with a hissing voice, keeping the whilst kitten wobbling in the snow close to his paws. The timid female manged to wiggle her way out of the barriers of snow he created to keep her from wondering into the bustling traffic. He stayed rigid in the same pliant stance with pale blue eyes focused on the balcony above them. He could feel it in his gut, there was some form of nourishment residing in the kitchenette area-either milk or fish. People were living in the building. He detected human sweat, sizzling bacon and whiskey. He had to act fast, and effectively use his new methods of infiltration and complete the objective.

"Worth a try," the cat grumbled under his breath. His pensive blue eyes landed on the top stairs leading to the door swaying off broken hinges. A surge of energy flashed through him. He scaled the stairs with cautious steps and great agility, bounding up to the door, the ambiance of shadow was present as he did a slinky walk inside the emptied room. His paws patted on the creaky floorboards and tail straightened up as he began his search for food. A sink full of unwashed dishes reeked and roaches crawling over the plates, drawn to the sickly and unclean smell. A grimace crossed his face as he averted his gaze away from the sink. Disgusted and mortified."Now, that is just gross..."

Bucky's eyes darted methodically around the room, nothing resembled food. He had to clear out and find another kitchen to raid. Moving in slow calculated steps, he reached the door of the apartment with a yellow police tape danging from the wooden frame, giving the trespassers the impression that murdered had taken placed a few months back, there were signs of blood splatters lingering on the floor and torn pieces of clothing, but he ignored the waves gloom that seemed to crash against his slender form and felt his defensive respond to unknown danger.

"Get out of here you worthless street filth!"

Bucky hissed against the oppressive hand that reached out from his neck by a patron sitting in the darkness. His ears flattened sideways as anger boiled in his blood. Tail thrashed back and forth and pupils constricted into intense black as he looked at the attacker. Instincts controlled his body language like a relax, his back arched and fur stood on its end-his aggressive nature kicked in as he stared at the ragged man slumped in the corner, bearded and dazed by whiskey consumption. An overload of it. The black cat stood his ground and when the stranger tried to snatch him by the neck, Bucky swiped his claws against exposed calloused flesh. He mustered enough strength to defend himself.

The man's arms thrashed at him in the wake of confusion, yanking against the fur. "Urgh...You little-"

Bucky's mind was addled, he followed his feline instincts, slashing his claws with a vicious attack and not relenting back. He glared harshly at the man with his cold blue eyes. Murderous intent darkened into his ebony pupils. He caught the scent of blood. That was all he needed to cut loose and show the man that he was still the Winter Soldier. His gaze became still and livid as he listened to the blood pulsing in his targets veins.

He watched the man asses the wound, and then circled with slow and calculating steps. His muzzle scrunched, and fangs barred. He was just waiting for an opening to make his lethal attack. The directive was to sink his claws into the weakness point of the neck. "You know I was holding everything back, because there were kids present. Now, that I'm alone with you ugly..." He manged to form a brazen smirk with his mouth. Claws dug into floorboards and his body crouched low as he readied for the pounce. "I think it's going to get dangerous in here real quick." he envisioned how the fight would end.

Death.

"No," His unsettled tone became distressed as his eyes looked at the spatters of blood on the floor; his heart raced rapid, his fur tensed, his blood heated. No...I'm a soldier not a killer. HYDRA made me kill...I fight and defend lives."

His blood ran cold and dread twisted in his stomach. The programming of the assassin urged him to strike at the man. The curse, the destroyed lives...Steve...Captain America...Friendship.

His friendship.

"Oh no," Realization crept upon him as his panicked blue eyes looked down at the furry black and metal paws...His inorganic limb twisted. The images and flashes of memory began to add up in his mind and it was forced with dissemblance that Bucky stood his ground on all fours and fought a warring conflict between humanity and order.

"Fight it, Barnes," he told himself. "Become the good soldier not the killer."

The sordid man moved his stubby hand with encroaching fingers to the shard of glass near his boot, a sadistic grin played across his pale lips as he glared down at the dazed cat. "You know I heard cats been profit. People pay a lot of money for you fleabags...Especially you Blackie." He gripped the shard, and pointed it at Bucky, with murderous intent before turning his gaze to the balcony." I wonder if you have any little friends out here..Maybe a family."

Kittens.

Like a bullet discharging from a gun, Bucky released a raw screech, "Stay away from them!" He attacked his aggressor, jumping against the man's fleshy shoulder, and lashed at the throat with his metal claws, fast and sharp.

Blood had been exposed from the gashes, and just before the cat could deliver a killing swipe, the screaming man straightened off the floor and left the apartment in a frantic dash leaving Bucky glaring back in a victorious stance.

Although he wouldn't admit it, for the first time in days, Bucky felt like his old self.

It didn't take him long to raid a cupboard and grab a can of tuna. He checked the expiry date before vaulting over the apartment and back to the hungry kittens huddled together in a pile of snow. "Here you go, fur balls," he placed the can in front of them, using his metal claws in circular motion to serve as a can opener.

The male was the first to eat.

Bucky turned his focus on the female, shivering and timid. For a moment he just stared at her, until she wobbled close to him. Then, she tucked her body against his chest, she purred and nuzzled against his soft fur and strength, and the kitten knew she was safe again. There. In the falling snow. Protected by a cat who'd sworn to keep her away from harm.

A pull of affection tangled his heart strings, Bucky enclosed his paws into an interlock to prevent the cold from brushing over her. Frowning to himself, he shifted his pensive blue eyes towards the street thinking of Steve and how their humanity had been robbed from them. It was shattering to dwell on knowing that HYDRA had been targeting people and changing them into animal.

There loathing question that kept racing in his mind as Bucky whispered out a disdainful breath, "Did HYDRA intend for me to become the first victim?"

* * *

Anna was used to surviving alone in a disheveled body. Adaption was necessary for survival. She learned how to master her heightened senses and defenses. There was a hidden truth woven in the threads of HYDRA. Magic was a unknown science to become matched with the functioning abilities of peak human conditioning. She spend years roaming the world libraries in search for answers of the decoded fractures between the lines of reality and fiction. There were texts with myths written about the Stonehenge and how souls trapped in shadow could reform into animals—mainly black cats. She also discovered history of concealed occult rituals the Nazis performed behind closed doors in vacant castles. Nothing was concrete. She had to discover the real truth on why she had become condemned in vessel of a black cat.

She remember feeling the agonizing metamorphosis surging through her blood and bones. A cruel sensation of every human part of her existence remolding and shifting into a new body. Octavia was present in the chamber. Holding a vial of blood—Jame's blood in the culture of her hand. Anna was stabbed to a table, unable to free herself from the shackles. in the moments of feeling everything merge and twist she caught a glimpse of a file written in Russian.

A project called Возрождение: _Rebirth._

After they disposed of her new unconscious form in a gutter; she became a stray creature whom searched for home. A impermanent dwelling. Inside the ridges of her scarred heart she knew that her home was James Buchanan Barnes. He had been her dawn when the nightmares crept in the darkness and she was ensnared to never awaken without tear welling in her brown eyes.

He would hold her close, allowing her lips to brush against the warm hard muscle of his engraved torso as they faced the terrors and punishments. Beyond his fierce and icy exterior she found him, the true man who had been imprisoned inside the menacing hybrid of chrome and death-the Winter Soldier. That was in another lifetime.

She first encountered him in a corridor after a lesson inside the classroom, where she had watched a replay of a black and white reeled film. _He stood near a stairway leading to the next level of the building. His skin was drenched with feverish sweat as he carried a intoxicating smell of oil and rusty bloodied scars from a previous mission had placed her in a trance._ _Most of the girls whispered about him, a looming ghost of a forgotten soldier-nameless and lost in the valleys of ice and snow. _

_The Winter Solider._

_Tearing her brown eyes away, she felt unbalanced and thumped her shoulder against his chromed plate limb. It left a tiny gash of a blood on her chin as she flopped to the ground within the impact, landing on her hands and knees; bruising her palms as cement scraped over skin. The small yelp of pain snapped him out of his automaton gaze and he blinked, breaking out of his thoughts and looked down at her with a benevolent expression that surfaced from deep within. His eyebrows furrowed with hardened confusion._

_"Why are you on the ground?" he asked with a monotone voice, haunting and low. His lips were held into a firm line. "Did you fall?"_

_Anna timidly rubbed her wrist. She swallowed down a harsh sob, and looked up at him. Tall, short rakish brunette hair that had a few loose strands dangling from his broad forehead. His piercing Aegean blue eyes held darkness and unyielding defiance. His lips shaped with full arch as curved edges remained slack down. His jaw structured and chiseled into a squared curve with a cleft at the tip of his chin. The metal arm was by the far the most dangerous thing about him._

_An chrome augmentation, a mechanical weapon, fastened into marred bone and flesh. The Red star of Russia was branded on the shoulder plates, but there was something far more mysterious about him, he didn't look Soviet born, almost American._

_"I didn't mean to prevent you from reaching your objective, sir." Anna addressed to him with hint of uncertainty in her voice. She allowed dread to pour into her heart. She knew that shadow before her was the The Winter Soldier. Taking a deep breath, the world froze as hot flashes of fear penetrated through her lithe body. She felt trapped within in his unblinking gaze of icy embers. She tried to regain her words. "It was an accident. I had no intention of bumping into your arm."_

_The Winter Soldier cast down a withered and yet catatonic look at the speck of blood sloping over her chin. "There is a blood on your face," he growled, reaching out a hand instinctively, biting on his lips and itching to caress his fingers over the cut. He was undecided as his humanity protested against his programming. The struggle to assist to her wound scrunched on his face and he stole a timid glance at the stairs. Looking into her brown eyes, he found acceptance, he pivoted and inched a forward step, arm twisting with a tainted noise of misuse._

_Anna clenched. Her thumping and strained heart tightened in her chest. This was the only form of kindness that ingrained in her blood. Her life meant nothing to her handlers. She was an asset enslaved to become an operative-a killing machine bound to bed post with handcuffs digging in her wrist._

_She had been a part of a selection of young orphans left to starve on the streets of Russia without the security of home. This was home to her. A boarding school hidden beyond a surrounding a forest of pine and ice. The building was old and smelt of dank musty filth. There were different levels each with purpose of submission and imprisonment. Freedom was never a second thought in the Red Room._

_Fear seemed to dwarf inside her, as she stood her ground in front of him."Blood makes us strong when it spills from our veins." she recited, her voice almost robotic, before her mouth clamped shut and she turned away from him._

_His lips twitched slightly at this as a his metal hand grasped her shoulder, and he whispered in a less abrasive snarl, "Walk by my side and I will give you a chance to have freedom from the classes today. You will train with me."_

_The moment when Anna was about to follow his lead, a pair of cold hands snatched her arm and yanked her away from him, and thrown against the wall and handcuffs clasped over her wrists. She twisted around and met the ablazed green eyes of one of her dance instructors. Octavia. The woman's glove hand slapped her across the face._

_"Disorder will not be tolerated, stray." __Octavia yelled, and the grabbed her shoulders, pinning her against the wall. "I expect discipline from my young ladies. Not compliance to the set rules because you have a crush." She gritted her teeth. "It seems that your emotion capacity to resistance needs to become altered with pain. You will be thrown into the isolation chamber and await further instruction by my command."_

_Anna dared a look into his glassy blue orbs and watched his roughened face lower submissively._

_"Do I make myself clear, little Miss Anya?"_

_"Yes," She whimpered out her answer in barely a whisper. She responded to her real name. "I understand."_

_"Leave the girl. She is a distraction. I'll see that she gets punished for invading your space. Now, be a good soldier and march up those steps." Octavia drawled, casting her mellifluous eyes back on Anya and then trailed a displeased glower back to the Winter Soldier._

_"It wasn't her fault," He gritted, not taking his eyes off Anya, defending her. "I wasn't paying attention and she crashed into me." His face rearranged into a blank expression. He was using a trick of deception. He inched closer to the witch, and held out his hand, pulling Anya away from her, and possessively close to his side. " I wanted to escort this young woman back to the bed chambers."_

_Hissing under her breath, Octavia released her hold on the brunette. "Fine, I will give you clearance to meet this objective. If both of you fail to follow the rules, I will see that you are greatly punished-"_

_"Understood," he nodded, with a sour look, and then interlocked his metal digits with Anya's small fingers. Satisfaction of his victory hooded over his ghostly pale blue eyes, as he looked down at her; fighting his emotional disposition and whispered in a English voice, "You have a beautiful name...Anya."_

_She leaned against him, when he enclosed his arm around her waist, breathing softly. Thoughts were gone. She didn't want to move. She felt safe and wanted for the first time in ten years. "Why did you save me?" she asked, forcing herself to doubt._

_"You're the only one who looked at me instead of the metal arm, Anya," he replied. blinking against fire. He felt something surge within him. A thermal defrost against the relentless bite of winter. It had been a long time he felt his compassionate emerge from the icy depths of where the Winter Solider . He was breaking through the walls HYDRA and Leviathan barred around him; for the most part staring into brown eyes of a woman. A real woman. Not a mindless copy produced under the red haze. She was a dancer, but she had heart and spirit. She was alive._

_She had to ask the hardest question that seeped from her lips, "What is your name?"_

_He dropped his head, and was hesitant to answer her. "_Yakov,_" he answered lowly._

_Anya gave him half of a smile, translating the name. "James..."_

Feeling those memories clot in her torrent thoughts, Anna snapped her eyes open to darkness. Soft glows of waxen moonlight reflected over her shiny fur and she felt her chest seize so tight she could barely breathe. "James," she gasped, almost losing her balance off the dresser, and ears twitched to the distant echoes of an sirens wailing in her mind. Someone was in danger. Another soul would be lost. She stomach churned, and eyes leaked with moisture. Cats didn't cry. They didn't show pain.

The cat turned her head, quickly and caught a glimpse with dimmed amber eyes of the small girl huddled under a heap of blankets. Safe and warm. Sensing no threat in the air; Anna let loose a tiny meow of bitterness which morphed into a plea of despair. "Please, I just want to see him again. James deserves to know that he is a good man." She lowered her head, pain increased in her broken heart. She squeezed her eyes shut once more. She declared the words entwined with the threads of her soul. "The man I love and will keeping on loving until this curse ends me."

* * *

It was the last level of an off grid and restricted compound. A dark place were evil lurked. Horrors were created. Death was freedom.

As he stood in front of a row of metal cages, Baron Wolfgang von Strucker shot a cold glare with grayish blue at his latest collection. Dozens of hopeless and condemned souls trapped within animal vessels, restless and timid and changed to become laboratory experiments for the whims of deranged obsessions of a magistress who had ensnared them.

His presence was like a shadow before them, a looming phantom of obscured malice. Glove hands squeezed over the leather strap as he observed the weakness bored into the transformed prisoners. The only fragments of humanity were scattered pieces of clothing were piled in a heap at the corner of the bunker room.

Pacing in hauntingly steps, his twisted and disciplined mind conjured about his next scheme of restoring HYDRA from the shadows the ever so vigilant and noble Captain America threw them back into—cutting off heads—Alexander Pierce and Jasper Sitwell from the main form of its body. He stared into the blank eyes of the animals-once respected and loyal operatives, but now worthless sacks of fur and drool used for injections and organ extraction.

It had become a new dominating form of power to create serums involving fear hormones and adrenaline. The methods of control had changed in past century. HYDRA allied with a morbid force of power usage of ancient dark arts recovered by the SSR and stored in secret files. After SHIELD crumpled into ash agents were able to collect the documents and relics to become used as weapons of dominance over their opposing enemies.

Today he archived victory. Captain Steven Rogers had become a victim to a transfiguring curse. A captive ensnared inside a vessel of a canine from a incantation that seeped from the mage's cold lips. It was a perfect form of wickedness to expose the super soldier's weakness and extract the serum from his veins to recreated the compounds Zola failed to rematch after unsuccessful trails.

Snickering, he turned his focus on a cage tucked in the corner of the lab. Inside an unconscious dog with blonde fur which the distinct hair of one prime individual who took a stand against HYDRA's new order of warfare— Steve Rogers. With spite running livid in his veins, Strucker looked at the animal's belly rising and falling as he slept, and murmured then under his breath, "Soon, Captain America, you will belong to HYDRA."

* * *

Flecks of moonlight streamed through the cloud cover, he switched off the Harley as the slight rumble of thunder died. The alley way was obscured by darkness and silence crawled through the vacant spaces. Before he slid his chiseled and well muscled body off the saddle a sound of heels clicking entered his ears. He scanned the alley, searching for truth in the mist as uncertainty envelopes over him once more. Frustrating and panic restrained in his veins as he felt compelled to enter the shadows.

"Captain."

In response to the familiar and concealed voice, he grabbed the shield off the handle bars of the bike, and latched it over the broad span of his shoulders. Feeling absent from the dread he moved closer with hushed and cautious steps. Everything was whirling around him as he pushed himself further. His heart pounded and blood rushed faster in his veins, and he instantly wore the stoic and fierce semblance of Captain America, becoming battle ready as he prepared to engage whatever demon lurked in the murky ambiance in front of him.

Before he could deliver an attack, his heart thudded to a stop and he found her standing in the division of darkness and moonlight. His voice became hesitant to answer, and he felt distant and unsure at first, but when he dared himself to stare into those brown jeweled eyes he parted his lips, "Peggy?"

There she was standing in with fire burning in her dark eyes. Her lithe figure dressed in a leather bomber jacket and curly brown hair fastened into a bun. Her full lips were painted with deep red and skin untouched by age. She didn't move from her regal stance. She placed gloved hands on her curves with a displeased expression shrouding over her ivory features. "Why are you not fighting, Steve?" she asked in her rich English voice. "There's a bloody war going on and you're just standing here..."

Steve lowered his head, ashamed, and unable to stop a firm grimace creeping over his lips. "I'm sure I can fight anymore, Peggy." he admitted.

"Steve, I have never known you to quit the fight." Peggy whispered as she swayed closer to him. "A good soldier never allows defeat to overcome his directive. You know what needs to be done. So find a way to seize your victory. Pick up the shield and go back out here and fight, Captain Rogers."

"I'm not sure I can do that anymore," Steve spoke with despondence in his strained voice. "Captain America isn't who I am. Something has happened to me and I–I don't feel strong. All I can feel is weakness and defeat."

Peggy shook her head, refusing his words. She halted a breath, and then stepped back to peer at him. He wore a different mask over his chiseled and razor-edged features. His piercing blue eyes weren't clear as a winter sky, but filled with stormy gray. He looked lost and afraid. Not the man—not the fearless and defiant soldier who fought until every ounce of breath strayed from his lungs. He needed to regain hope once again. "What do you believe in, Steve?" she asked in a somber voice, holding her red lips into a weak smile. He didn't answer her. "Your entering a dead pass on a battlefield and your friend needs your protection, so you are left with two choices to take the road of coward or find a way to save both of your lives."

'How?" Steve bit out, restraining the remorse heating in his veins.

Peggy walked closer, until he felt the heat of her body radiating into his stiff bones. She slid her dainty hands over his jacket, and then removed the silver compass from his pocket. The keepsake he had treasured for seventy years, tarnished with age and dented from the icy drifts of water. "You just need to follow the right direction to take." she said, lifting his hand and placing the compass in his large palm. "It's always kept you from running astray from home, hasn't it?"

He nodded slowly, but doubt crossed his heart. It hurt to confess. "I'm not sure where home is anymore. "

"It doesn't take much to find your way again. Just a choice to make the first step." replied, brown eyes dazzled with warmth. Her hands encompassed over his rough knuckles, squeezing with a gentle touch as she pressed them into the center of his hard chest. "You need to find your heart again, Steve. That's where Captain America will reside until you break those chains holding you down."

He froze up. This was a just a form of existence that time gave to him, a double crossed weave of inward struggle. She was his guiding light against the darkness. She was the woman he loved. Peggy Carter. His forgotten promise and broken dream. His heart. "It's not that easy, Peggy. I'm dealing with a different form of evil. Something I haven't faced in the uniform. It's hard to break the chains when everything inside of you has been taken away." He paused, lips folded into a line of anguish. "I know this isn't real...It's just a glimpse that my soul gave to help rebuild my strength." He looked deeply, into her brown eyes, still watching the flames of desire and trust burn inside them. "When I wake up you'll be an old dame and I'll be a less of man than I ever was..."

The world spun.

He caught a his reflection in the windows. The face of a blonde furred dog trapped in the cracks of glass. On his neck as a collar with the symbol of HYDRA branded on a steel tag.

"No," he gritted, withdrawing a step away, but Peggy grasped his arm.

"Steve, look at me," she commanded with a firm voice.

He flicked his blue eyes down, and stared at her. "Peggy, the curse. I can't fight it." His words were shuddering to a halt. Heart clenched and pain invaded.

"You're stronger than this bloody curse, Steve." Peggy caressed her fingers over his sharpened jaw, holding a loving touch on the tightening skin. "I have faith that you'll find your way back where you need to be..." She smiled with her thumb wiping away a tear. "You never give up. You keep on holding on whatever your a man or a dog...You are Captain Steven Grant Rogers."

"Peggy..." he said, pausing to look at her. The overpowering and sickening fear dissolved as he felt his heart beat increasing with the virtuous strength of the super soldier and the unyielding will power of the Brooklyn kid. He would find a way to defeat the darkest of evil..To save Bucky and restore his humanity. With that surge of hope coursing through him—he reached for her chin with his palm. He tilted her head upwards to align with his lips, and just stared at him with the light and unbreakable resilience of Captain America. "Thank you."

He kissed her, sealing a wet embrace of heat over her melting lips, and then he took her. Everything poured out of him like he had been broken from a high fever. Heart ceased to beat. Fear was gone. He needed this. To feel her lips follow the lead of his kiss as the world shattered into shards of darkened and mirrored pieces and he knew the dream was ending.

He held onto her, using all the strength in his arms to keep her locked against him. In those few moments of drifting back into a conscious state of mind, the compass slipped out of his hand and dropped to the ground—the arrow spun in all directions until it stopped and pointed to Brooklyn.

_Bucky._

* * *

Stirring from his slumber the first that registered in Steve's cloudy mind was a dull pain that seemed to burn all over his body. He attempted to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt like they were made of lead. He tried again, and this time he managed to get them open. His vision was hazy, but it didn't matter much; there was nothing to see. There was little light at all, and it revealed nothing except the bare floor.

Steve was still groggy from the tranquilizers, but he knew his strength was returning to him, so he decided to stand. He forced himself stand, but his back hit something cold and solid before it had risen half a foot, so he plopped back onto the hard floor. Realizing that he must be confined somehow, he took stock of his condition and surroundings.

Steve first noticed that something was wrong with his mouth. Sensation was still shaky, but he was fairly certain that the issue was not his nerves, but some obstruction. His jaws would not part, and his breathing was slightly hindered. Lifting his front leg, he pawed at his snout and discovered a tight muzzle was in place clamping his mouth shut. Biting his captors was now out of the question.

By scooting gently forward and gently backwards, Steve discovered that he was trapped in a very small cage. He did not even have enough room to turn around. There was neither food nor water, and his tongue was dry. The concrete below was biting into his skin, his fur offering little cushion at all. A collar was around his neck, and Steve had a feeling it wasn't to hold a license.

Steve sat in the dark for almost half an hour and no one came into the room. The effects of the drug had finally worn off, and Steve had paid special attention to any sounds that his sharp ears caught. He could occasionally hear footsteps from some distant hallway, but nothing ever came anywhere near his prison. Though his smell was hindered, Steve could tell that the room in which he was trapped was old and musty. A basement perhaps. That would be an ideal place for HYDRA to do its dirty work.

_Bucky._ Steve had almost forgotten about his friend, and now he wondered if his feline companion had been captured too. Bucky was smart and skilled; it would be hard for even HYDRA to catch him. Perhaps he had escaped. Steve knew that if he was sure of Bucky's safety, he could easily endure whatever tortures HYDRA had planned for him.

Finally, a pair of feet approached a door that was outside of Steve's limited window of vision and entered the room. Steve glared up at the pair of wicked eyes that looked down upon him, growling loudly as the figure smirked ruthlessly at him.

"Comfortable, Captain America," The German voice taunted, harshly.

Steve only maintained his glare, sizing up his foe. He couldn't recall meeting him before, though he didn't have to have a lot of insight to see this man's innate wickedness. As he emerged from the murky darkness shrouding over the dank bunker room, Baron Strucker settled his gelid metallic gray eyes on the transformed captain. He looked like German Nazi. His body had't withered with time, he was in peak condition with broad shoulders and chest. His receding hair was dark and shorted into a buzzed cut. Face was strict with cut-stone features and a square jaw. He wore a muted gray uniform with the symbols of HYDRA branded on the shoulder patches. His composer was firm, restrained and emotionless.

The baron reminded Cap of a viper; a snake that gladly strikes its prey. Well, Steve was one prey that would fight a snake until it regretted its attack.

Hands slipped through the bars of the cage and a sharp pinched was left in the wake of the seized muscle squeezing against the veins. Steve released a small yelp in quick response. Captain America's resilience and defiance was no stranger to HYDRA's methods. They knew enervation and undervalued whatever threads of humanity billowed in the tempest of evil. This was a cruel force of pain that whacked against his bones as he was engaged into a unbidden conflict between strength and weakness.

"Impressive," Strucker said with a distinct German accent. "Only few have survived the transformation. Seeing that you carry that ageless serum in bones I have no doubt that you would have survive the changes of becoming a beast of obeisance. An asset to HYDRA's will." He appraised Steve's resilience in a stern tone. Another moment had passed when his gray eyes locked with husky's unyielding icy blue embers. "You see, Captain Rogers, it's not an era for science in bottles and inorganic weapons. It's an age of miracles and fear. To create a better world you must compromise with certain forces of power to give you the right foundations to restructure the damage humanity has lay to rot."

"Captain Rogers, I hear that you have a certain soldier is on the run. A black smudge that needs to be swiped away from this world." Strucker jabbed at him. Steve glared harshly at as he could regain the right amount of clarity to see row of cages in front of him. His expression must of registered since the Baron chuckled mockingly.

"You know it's fitting to see America's greatest war hero...The timid and ill Brooklyn brat that Doctor Erskine had faith in when he gave you the chance to become reborn into a mortal perfection. A super soldier." Strucker tsked with a displeased glower. "He believed that you were a miracle. Until unexplained truths became unsealed and new ideas were forged by ancient myths and relics-member of SS had secrets forces helping them long before blue liquid was induced into skinny weakling."

Steve barely even heard the insults. His mind was fixed on Bucky. He had hoped that perhaps HYDRA would forget about his friend now that they had the famous Captain America, but it seemed that was not so. Thoughts raced through Steve brain as he tried to think of a way to save Bucky, but no good idea surfaced. He couldn't even save himself at the moment. All he could do was sit there, glaring and growling, and pray that his friend would evade capture.

Prisoner. HYDRA. Blood. Pet...

"NO!" Steve snapped, shuffling backwards from the Baron's gaze. "I won't let you win..."

"Enough!" Strucker barked enraged by the dogs's compliance. He pointed with a gloved finger, knuckles flexed under leather as he turned his focus abruptly on a chained leash with flecks of blood stained on the chrome. He watched the blonde furred husky recoil unceremoniously back with the bite of threat in his gruff voice. He listened to Steve breath sharply against the tight muzzle locking in his defiance.

Steve's glare hardened and his insides boiled; his muzzle lifted high as canine incisors barred against the restricting leather. His heart thudded once, and twice before he regained his inward strength. He still felt trapped in a daze—harrowing dread increased every moment his mind dwelled on the thought of HYDRA imprisoning innocent people into bodies of animals. He refused to allow this to put him on the ropes. He was Captain America, the First Avenger and Defender of truth and freedom.

He wasn't a man to give into defeat. He fought until not a breath existed in his lungs. He had to keep on fighting."Soon as I get out of this, I'm going to make sure HYDRA never damages a life again." He growled raw and fierce. There was no weakness, nor surrender in his tone. Only a deadly calm that was prelude of a arising storm ahead.

Listening to the muffled growls emitting from the dog, Strucker's expression darkened as his hand thrusted into the cage, slow, and twisted almost like a corkscrew reaching for Steve's heart. He withdrew his intent threat of harming animal and caressed his knuckles over the creamed fur of Steve's chest.

"You are in no position to fight back. For seventy years I have waited to watch you suffer...To rot in cage just like my men your American government put into when Zola was detained from our ranks. You thought you had the power to prevent us from seizing control...You were solely mistaken, Captain, and underestimated the main factors of trust between order and chaos. It can be broken when parasites eat away at defenses from the inside." He curled his lips into a serpentine grin, releasing a hollow chuckle. "Now, that world you had awakened after being trapped in a coffin of ice has changed and good men will cease to exist."

The baron stared at the growling beast, and chuckled with unemphatic burst of amusement. He looked down at the distress canine, and ominous gray eyes took in Steve's cursive vestige with a satisfied gleam. "I'm going to enjoy breaking you, Captain." He intoned with a merciless voice. "Once your blood reaches the maximum percentage of canine it will resistant the serum. You'll drained and suffer a significant amount of memory loss until you're just a caged dog." He laughed, stepping closer to the cage and inhaled the stench of the drenched fur. "Each animal in this compound holds a distinct stench of fear...Yours is strong and fierce. The perfect essence of Captain America."

Steve did not dignify that biting comment with a response. He continued to stare at his adversary, having nothing more to do and knowing that it pleased the man least. Cap knew that pain was likely only minutes away, but he shoved the thought from his mind and put all his focus instead on scoping out the room, looking for possible advantages and exits.

"Pull yourself together, soldier," he chided underneath the constriction of the muzzle. "There's always a way out."

There was only one door and no windows, so if he were to escape, there was only that one option. In regards to objects, Steve looked closely at the cages across from his own. He could not tell in the dim light if they were occupied, but maybe he could knock one onto his assailant. There might be cages parallel to his, but he could not see them. He knew all this planning was probably futile, but he had to try. He could not give up hope; he had to prove the man wrong.

Good men could still exist, and Steve decided he would be one of them.

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_A/N: I want to thank my wonderful and amazing co-author for delivering such a descriptive piece involving Steve Rogers. Also, the Peggy and Steve dream segment is for JuliaAurelia who loves that ship. Thank you and enjoy. Lots more exciting stuff ahead._


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

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Feeling useless inside the cage in the vacant shadows of the desolated bunk. Another piece of his humanity bled away, fell into the darkness, leaving only a thread of hope. It felt almost... inescapable for him...a prison of fur and weakness. Steve knew he couldn't give into submission. He had to ignore the icy harrowing panic increasing through his bloodstream, and focus on his survival tactics. Narrowing his head, he brushed his muzzle against the steel bars. Pain filled and pulsated through his skull, encompassing ans ravaging his thoughts with the same rhythmic pounding of his strained heart.

In one hour, he would become subjected to awaiting tortures, and he would become forced to feel the surge of excruciating pain devour his broad strength. Steve found his senses awoken by a terrifying feeling; there was a cold presence of death lingering in the room. He trained to open his eyes but couldn't. He felt groggy, almost like he had been fighting the sickness of a high fever. The air was musty...dampened. He twisted slightly and the dull pain coursed through him. The cage was grating against his fur-blood. His nose crinkled at the familiar stench of plasma maybe; definitely not his since he didn't recall enduring injury. _Another captive?_

His triangular shaped ears perked up, he heard another, encroaching footfall, like boots scraping over concrete. "Captain Rogers?" a gruff Russian voice whispered, testing to see if he was awake.

Steve considered pretending to sleep, but that seemed both futile and a little cowardly. Instead he shot a harsh glare outside of his cage towards whomever HYDRA had now sent to trouble him, the fur on his back rising and his muscles growing tense. He let out a low growl from the back of his throat, though hardly any of its sound made it past the tight muzzle that still dug into his jaws.

A depraved crackle of laughter sliced through the dulled silence of the room. A pair of ebony eyes narrowed at the cage; he twisted his head scornfully at the blonde furred beast and listened to the rumbling growls of the captain's unyielding defiance, while his smirking lips broke apart, his laugh was poisoned with toxic disgust. Unbidden hatred. Using a tactic of fear, he rattled the chains all the while his pale face was tainted with bitterness. He reeked of morbid blood and his eyes seemed to never blink as he glared down at the husky and cracked his knuckles.

"So you are the great Captain America?" he taunted with livid spite. Steve could sense the hunger pulsating in the man's veins. "America's spangled champion..." He loomed in front of the cage, stalking the ambiance of darkness with slow and methodical steps. "I'm surprised that you survive the process of transformation. Most humans fail to weakness as their bones twist and break... You are carrying something they lack... A fighting spirit."

Steve barely registered the last sentence of his tormentor's words. His thoughts went to what the operative had implied when he said "most humans fail to weakness...". How often had HYDRA cursed innocent victims to an excruciating transformation that many could not endure? Anger flared up like fire in Steve's soul as he thought of the terrible injustices people must have suffered. And not only did these evils occur, but they did so under the nose of an organization born in the land of the free. Where was the freedom of America now? Bureaucrats and power-cravers had forgotten the liberty men had once died for. It seemed to Steve that the American hope resided now only in a handful of individuals. He was one of the few in this remnant.

He did have a fighting spirit, but it was so much more than that. And now it was burning with just indignation.

Steve suddenly lashed out, lunging his weight against the bars in front of him in hopes that his superior strength, though fettered by the curse, might prevail against the cage. The bars did not yield, though they were strained by the force of the hit. Steve's front feet thrashed against the metal as the tried to claw his way through. The effort was futile, but it somehow felt better than sitting and taking the arrogant insults of a merciless killer in silence.

The operative was entering a thrall of hysteria. A haunting laugh emerged from his curled and thinned lips. A wicked smirk merged from the air chill ravaging in the air. He was unveiling his true existence- uncompromising insanity. He gloved fingers slid over the bars, as he gave Steve the impression that he was relishing the torment- almost feeding off of the detachment of humanity. Baron Strucker gave him orders to break the captains will- thread by thread. " You sound so distressed, Captain." he whispered with no emotion in his voice- just hollowness. " Don't worry you'll be screaming everything out soon. His tone shifted into darker and more malicious taunt."It will be an amusing chorus to hear when we're rattling the cages..."

Steve's ears fell back and pressed against his skull, another growl emanating from his throat. His whole body was now laced with adrenaline, and his muscles ached for lack of room to spring forward. He felt like a weight hanging on a string; cut the string, and he would have nothing to hold him back.

Steve, trying to focus his mind on actual thoughts rather than his impulses, knew whatever this man had come to do was about to be done, and that meant two things. It meant that he needed to prepare himself for the likely outcome: pain, and lots of it. However, if this man as to do something to him, it could require opening the cage or adjusting Steve's restraints, which would give Steve a window of opportunity. Although the Captain knew that his escape was extremely unlikely, he had to be poised to capitalize on even a tiny advantage. Letting his senses pick up as much acute information as they could about his situation, he waited for the operative to make a move.

The Russian became unpredictably still. He didn't take his dark eyes off Steve just stared at the blonde fur rising as he listened to the fighting snarl of compliance. He knew the super-solider could take any jab, kick and bullets. He had to dig deeper, twist the embedded scars of guilt and failure and make Steve feel the true merciless pain of HYDRA grip him into red abyss. He paused silently, his arm outstretched to tug the chained leash. A brutal pulse of sheer enjoyment ignited through his bones as he lunged his hand into the cage, and coiled his finger's over the husky's throat. He wanted the pain to become numbing and unrelenting. Captain America's measurement resilience was test of limits and control. HYDRA had seen in past. They'd seen it dwindle when people he cared about for harmed. They knew how to use his weakness against him, how much he could endure, and hold back.

A potent and sickening stench of dried blood mask over the gloves. He was a monster. A sordid skeletal form of flesh and cruelty.-a form of evil that can't be reasoned with; he was by far the most sadistic brand of HYDRA's selective followers. "Not so tough are know, Captain." He taunted with mockingly voice. Steve could clearly see that the vicious man was enthralled and excited at the very least of torturing the First Avenger. Regardless, the soldier inside of the canine vessel refused to back down from the hideous fight. "Let's see have much you can defy against pain, dog."

With as quick a move as he could, Steve lashed at the arm gripping his neck with his right foreleg, claws swiping with force. He had not been a dog very long, and his nails had lacked the time and wear to become filed down. Therefore, they were sharper than those of the average husky. Steve raked his paw across the operative's hand, and even though the man was wearing a glove, Steve was sure he had done at least some injury. Without even waiting to see what the operative would do in response, Steve repeated the blow again, wanting to get all he could out of this opportunity.

Oddly, the operative didn't react to lashes embedded in the thinned skin of his wrist. He just locked his shadowed eyes on the compromised area, licking in his lips as if he craved for the liquid maroon seeping from the punctured skin. With a nefarious sneer he grabbed the fur with striking thrust of his arm.

He wanted to get inside the captain's mind. Ground-in certain thoughts and ideals to corrupt the noble spirited man trapped inside the dog. He could feel Steve slowly slipping, the strength draining, the power of defiance fading into a course of yielding. He could smell the uncertainty spiraling in the marrow of his bones, and the insistence of his claws digging into the skin as he yanked the fur.

He slipped out a knife from his sleeve, feeling submission become a tenfold of weakness. He just needed to find the trigger point—a way to break Steve's heart shields. Quickly, he recoiled his hand away, and leveled his stare at the flaming blue eyes of his captive. "I heard that your friend won't survive the night. The Baron has a demon hound that likes hunting little cats...Once the mutt gets the scent of the Winter Soldier, than you will grieve for him...because he'll already be dead before you break out."

Steve's heart skipped a beat. They were already tracking Bucky? And with some mutant creature, no less. Images of Bucky, tortured and dying, filled Steve's mind and he ground his teeth, wishing he was able to cry out. There was nothing he could do to save his friend; he was utterly powerless. Bucky's blood would coat the ground because he had no one to fight beside him. Steve felt defeated, but them a spark ignited in him somewhere, and he refused to give in.

This could be a lie, and even if it wasn't, Bucky would want Steve to be strong. To fight HYDRA. To hold onto hope, even to the end of the line. Though the operative's grip on his fur was tighter than a vice, the pain making him dizzy, Steve did not back down. He locked his eyes with those of the agent and refused to submit.

Feeling the pressure of the jaws clamping over his wrist, the operative seethed out a hiss in harsh Russian, "I see you still have a little fight in you, Captain?" he chimed, applying force over Steve's frontal paw. "Do you think you can still defeat us, hero?" Steve resolved into a defensive stance. It was clear to the captor, that the caged dog wasn't going to submit. Using a brush of coldness in his voice, the freakish man pressed his fingers into bone, listening to Steve yelp within numbing contact."You fight until there's not a breath in your pathetic body, but your true weakness is having a soft side. You care to much. The Baron wants to cut off those strings, and remove all human obstruction from your mind. Once you fall...You will no longer show defiance to HYDRA, but obedience."

The pain flaming through Steve's leg was terrible, causing thinking to be extremely difficult. However, the Captain knew he couldn't let himself fall apart. He had to stay focused and alert as he defended both his mind and body from the advances of HDYRA. The man before him was clearly intent of breaking him, and so Steve would have to be even more adamant, which would be daunting for sure. The operative was likely insane as well as frighteningly sadistic. This moment could prove the hardest battle Captain America had ever fought.

Steve briefly thought of Bucky and what HYDRA had done to him in order to break his spirit. Bucky's will had probably been just as strong as Cap's, and HYDRA had finally been able to succeed. Was it no logical that they would succeed with Steve, too?

Steve shook failure from his mind. He had to fight; he had to stay afloat in this sea storm of HYDRA. He had to do it more for Bucky than himself now. Steve had always believed that evil would ultimately be defeated, and now he resolved to put that belief into action today. He refused to let the pulsing pain to get the better of him. He held his ground and maintained his silent glare.

Sensing the captain's resilience, the man bellowed out a harsh laugh, he released his hold on the dog's paw and stared into the ice blue eyes locked onto him. "I think a few volts from our newest brand of shock collars will decrease you stand of compliance, Captain." He threatened and straightened to his intimating height, and glared down at Steve. "I will be exhilarating to break the famous Captain America and he is nothing but a whimpering mutt."

Shock collar. So that's what this maniac would be using. Steve tried to mentally prepare himself for the horrors just a few seconds away. He knew that HYDRA's goal was to distract him from hope and make him give into despair. This would be easier for them when Steve could barely think due to inexpressible pain. Therefore, Steve had to be one step ahead of them, his mind had to be prepared. Closing his eyes tightly, Steve searched through his memory for any battle cry to latch onto. What had the founders of America, the country for which he fought, said in a dire situation?

Give me liberty or give me death. The statement rang in Steve's mind like the Liberty Bell itself. Who had said that? George Washington? No, it was Patrick Henry. And that statement had helped the Americans defy impossible odds and achieve their independence. Yes, it had to be liberty or death. No compromise, not with a tyrannical government hundreds of years ago and not with HYDRA today.

_Give me liberty or give me death._

Steve clung to the phrase, repeating it over and over in his head as he braced himself for the pain.

* * *

**A/N: A big thank -you to my wonderful and very talented co-writer. This chapter was intended to be around five thousand words, but I decided to just focus on Steve's torment for this one and leave the other parts for the next update. There will be lots of focus on Bucky and Anna. Flashbacks and a small glimpse of their reunion. Enjoy and thank you.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

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Brush washes of lavender and azure faded into a canvas of the entanglement of stormy cloud cover. He stood at the edge of the shoreline of Omaha Beach. The same shore where the Western Allied effort invaded the desolated shores of Normandy.

Decaying casemates of the German forces still stood on the sandy hills. Breathing in the salty air wavering from the sea, Steve focused his crystal blue eyes sternly on the rolling tide crashing against the jagged rocks. He still imaged landing craft driving against the ravaging waves to begin the initial assault as smoke shroud the coast from navel bombardment. Pieces of metal from tanks and shells scattered across the embedding sands. There were also remnants of the fallen casualties who gave their lives to ensure world freedom from the shadows of tyranny.

Then, out of nowhere red lightning struck down. Intense and electrifying. The earth underneath his boots rumbled. He almost last balance. The world around him was becoming ripped apart. A ridge was forming before his eyes. He crashed to the ground. The impact rattled though his bones. Icy panic was inside of him. Deep in his heart. Steve felt his strength bleeding out of every part of him. Deafening bombs of tanks dulled his ears. Screams of men dying became a morbid orchestration that ingrained in his whirling soul. He could feel the coldness of German spite encasing over his bones. He could taste the blood of fallen coat over his lips. He smelt death. Rotten and alarming. He swept his hands over the crushed stone, trying to grasp something to hold onto to. He couldn't fall. He couldn't become swallowed into the abyss.

Everything became cloaked in the infinite haze of warfare. Dog tags gleamed against the monotonous gray. Helmets and tattered scarps of uniform lay in patches of moist dirt. This was place where men showed liquid courage and fought against all odds. At one time it was a monumental haven for old and troubled soldiers to restore the peace in their restless spirits. It had served as a sanctuary to run to when he felt weakened and unable to carry on the fight. It now was a nightmare.

He was a lost soldier. No direction to turn back to, just a dead pass of choice. Even through his listened to his heartbeat, there was no solace growing within him. So, he walked. He pulled out his compass, pointing it to the ocean, and watched the arrow spin._ There is freedom. You have to find it._ One breath. Then a step and then another. One thought. No hesitation. Straight forward. He couldn't stop. He kept going further into the shallow water._ Look back. You'll find your way._

He dared a glance into the water. His heart faltered, frightened and numb. He saw the bodies of young soldiers; the darkness was dragging them further outward. Each one had fear ingrained in their pale faces. Their eyes glazed and open. Pupils had captured the last memories of their life before the hail of bullets struck them down. Steve realized that he was standing into a swirling pool of blood. His skin was becoming coated with the shades of it. He thrashed to get away from the horrid sight of death. He screamed, and gritted his teeth. The blood thickened around his massive body. His muscles felt the discouraging coldness. His eyes filled with tears. He was drowning in the tempest of red. When he struggled to swam back to shore, chains of a battle ship's anchor lathed over his feet, he was trapped. Hands of bone and decaying flesh gripped his arms, pulling him under. Gasping for lungful's of breath, he hoisted his arms out of the water, and splashes of blood drenched his blonde hair.

"No..." He screamed. His throat ached. He pushed himself against the waves and his hand reaching to touch the shore in focus of his light blue eyes, watery and filled up with agony. He turned his gaze on two battleships. American and Russian. Gun metal gray with rust eating at the haul. A young woman dark hair stood in the rushes of wind. Her lithe figure clothed in white. Her brown eyes cast down to him. Both hands on her hips with a displeased expression._ Peggy. It was Peggy. _"Help me..." He choked out. "Peggy, help me..."

On the other ship another woman, only fiery red hair curtained over her shoulders, and slender frame covered in black. _Natasha. _"Nat..." He screamed. His heart ascending up his throat. He could barely gather enough breath in his lungs. He extended out his hand to reach for her. Before he could push himself closer a crack of thunder echoed in his ears and a bullet penetrated into his back. He opened his mouth and spewed out blood as the water captured the reflection of a red face monster encroaching closer to him.

"You surprise me, Captain." The cryptic and sordid German accent hissed malicious in the hazed air. A phantom. The Red Skull. "I thought you were strong to fight the demons. Now, I see that the good doctor's serum was a failure. You are a failure. A worthless coward who hides behind a shield. You never tasted true death. You only drowned in it for seventy years. All the men that gave their lives for independence and freedom. Those are fools. There is no freedom in this world. You are blind by ideals of truth and justice." He lowered his gun, and smiled as his burning eyes melted into the sockets of the skull. "You are a symbol of death." Steve felt his heart seize into his chest. Those cold and hollow words lashed over him. He was entering complete submission. Defeat. "You want freedom in your life, than allow the people you care about to die...Allow Captain America to surrender."

Steve clenched his jaw, his blue eyes burning with smoldering remorse. He fell into a defense stance. His body straightened, and chains broke. "I will never surrender." he growled back. His voice firm and unyielding against the Skull's merciless power. He swiped the blood off his lips, and leveled his intense stare on the ghost. "Captain America may become a symbol of death. Steve Rogers will always be human. No what how much you try to break him. He will never give up the fight." He pointed his finger at the Skull, and his commanding features burned with victorious light. "Look at me, Skull. I'm standing in your world. I'm facing you without my shield." Steve said with gritted teeth. "I'm not backing down...Never!"

"Never?" The Red Skull unreleased a malignant and arrogant laugh. It was a demonic crackle. His hollow gaze raked over the man across from him. The great Captain America. «You're broken. HYDRA has you in a cage. You've lost, Captain."

Before Steve could protest against those words, his eyes snapped to a body of a soldier floating before him. He placed his hand over the young man's chest, closed his eyes and felt a pulse of strength merge within his blood. "You've only surrendered." Steve seethed. Anger rented in his heart. He stiffened and stood tall against the torrents of blood threatening to pull him under. Then, he caught a glimpse of his shield. Red and silver with five pointed star. The star of liberty, freedom and hope. The emblem of victory against all evil. "Don't you know evil never has the victory?" He grabbed his shield and threw it across the water, hitting the red bone and knocking down his enemy. "I rise to face another battle...» Steve bellowed, catching his shield in midair. "You fall to face the flame..."

The Red Skull wobbled to regain his balance, "How can this be...I have you trapped...I'm inside of you, Captain. Your mind, heart and soul. There is no way out."

"There's always a way out." Steve said. His voice rose with anger and determination. His blue eyes became liquid fire. "I allow only one voice to control my soul. I'm pretty sure you don't want to face him." The blood parted into clear water, almost as if repelled by his words...his inner strength. The demons around him faded into the clear light. He glared at the Red Skull, his chest hardened and lips fastened into a firm line. He wasn't giving up the fight. "I will never back down from you, because I've got strength that doesn't come from a bottle, and you have nothing."

"Oh, but I do have something," The Red Skull chimed back. A sadistic sneer crossed his bony features. He held up Bucky's dog tags, his gloved fingers squeezed the chain. "I have James Barnes...This time you can't save him. He was an unwilling weapon we used to fight you. A sacrifice to scar your bones with guilt." Steve felt the inferno of rage coil inside his heart." Now, he is just a nameless stray...Useless and condemned." He spoke condescending as he gestured his hand to Barnes. "Death will find him again."

"I will save him." Steve yelled. His fists pulsing with the urge to strike.

"Save him?" The Red Skull mocked in return. "You can't even save yourself, Captain America. I will offer Barnes his freedom if you fully become mine, Captain America.

Steve gritted his teeth as those cold words brushed over his heart. His slacked brow bunched and jaw set. He was already on the edge. The fever was rising in his bloodstream. He refused to listen to the torturous words expelling from the Red Skull's mouth. He wasn't giving in to the condemning tone jostling through his rigid bones. He had to break the chains and find Bucky. Lifting his stormy blue eyes, he stared back at the devil with a fathomless gaze of resistance. He focused on the shoreline. Everything was swallowed by clouds of gray. No more soldiers or pieces from the past. It was just a blank area, vacant and desolation from light. "Where is James Barnes?" he growled, not intending to withhold back his fierceness towards the older man before him. "I'm only going to ask one more time...Where is James Buchanan Barnes...The Winter Soldier?"

A cruel sneer formed on the Skull's sunken in mouth. "He's right here, Captain."

Steve inwardly cringed at the coldness of Skull's words. He narrowed his blue embers, and stared down. Dread knotted in his gut when the fog dissipated, and revealed Bucky lying on a slab of rock. He wasn't dressed in black Kevlar and combat gear. He was wearing a green uniform, his muscled chest exposed with patches of blood smeared over the skin. His brown hair rakish and unkempt. No metal arm. He was untouched by HYDRA's operating table. His chiseled face cold and lifeless. He looked dead. He was barely breathing. His chest rose and fell as his eye flickered and clear pale blue looked back at Steve. A raw growl escaped from the captain's throat. "Buck..."

Bucky curved his lips into a broad smile, "Steve..." He coughed, life was extracting from him. "You have to let me go...Punk...I'm only holding you down."

Steve shook his head, he walked closer to shore. His blue eyes were shining with promise. "I'm never letting you go, Buck."

Bucky smiled through his tears, and lifted his hand, waiting for Steve to grasp it. "Find home again, Stevie. Find a way back to Brooklyn."

"I will, Bucky," Steve promised. He tried to wrap his mind around the situation and what it meant, but he was at a loss. Instead, he did the only thing he could think to do. He quickly ran to his friend and clasped Bucky's hand in his own. "Buck, stay with me, okay?" Steve pleaded, clenching Bucky's hand tighter.

"Steve," the dark haired soldier smiled brightly, his blue eyes welled with tears. " I'm not leaving you..." He choked up, his words soft and drowned up at the mournful sob that escaped from Steve's lips. It was broken and defeated. Bucky lifted his shaky hand and touched Steve's face. He looked steady into Steve's eyes, the light blue clouded by swells of tears. His face fractured into pain. «You've got to put em' on the ropes of us...You've got to fight, punk." He gritted his teeth. "This is your mission...So finish it."

Steve felt the lump in his throat rise, and blinking back tears, he nodded. "Don't give it a second thought," he said, smiling gently down on his friend. "Consider the mission accomplished."

Bucky's breath was now ragged, each intake of air a wearying task. Fear seemed to pierce Steve to his soul as he watched his fellow soldier, his brother, so near the point of death. "I'd fight a lot better if I had you at my side, pal," Steve almost whispered, emotion choking up his words.

"I'm always with you, Steve." Bucky returned into a gritty voice, breath fading. He interlocked his chilled fingers over the firmness of Steve's knuckles. Small flecks of blood covered his paling lips and splattered his ashen face. He winced, and splayed his palm over the super-soldier's chest. "No matter what you face out there...I've always got your back." He gave Steve a weak smile, his eyes fluttered shut, his wintry blue eyes concealed away from the world, hidden from the light.

"Bucky!" Steve cried, shaking his friend to try to wake him. "Bucky, come on, don't do this!" Tears rolled down Steve's cheeks, and his heart felt like a twisted and broken mess. He bent over Bucky's body and wept openly, headless of anything else around him. The only conscious thought going through Steve's mind was Bucky's last sentence_. __I've always got your back._

* * *

Steve's eyes snapped open and he tried to get his bearings. He was no longer kneeling over his friend, which was a small relief, but that hope was washed away when more memory returned to him. The dank stench of old air greeted his canine nose, he felt the strain of chains on his neck and foreleg, and the only sound was that of a slow drip. The room's light was dim, but Steve didn't really care; he'd seen his prison before, and he had no desire to look around it again.

The only thing that remained of his dream was a burning passion that consumed his mind and soul. He had to fight HYDRA. He had to win. For Bucky's sake, if nothing else. He had to achieve victory for his friend. Steve gritted his teeth and pulled against his restraints, refusing to give in to this imprisonment for even a second.

The chain did not give, and Steve stopped struggling for a moment to exam the fetters. They were simple iron chains held together by a pin, which he could have removed easily with a thumb, if he'd had one. But his paws were inadequate, and his teeth were still trapped in their muzzle. Steve's heart cursed the curse, and his spirit thrashed about in its dark, spell-bound prison, not very different from this physical one. He had told the Red Skull that only one being was allowed to control his soul, and that he possessed an inner strength far beyond what HYDRA could understand. Now was the time to prove those words.

Steve had never taken thought to actual results coming from his non-physical struggle, but suddenly they were manifest right before his eyes. When he looked down at his long legs, he noticed that they were slowly changing. It was not the sort of change as when the curse had first occurred, but much more gradual and less drastic. However, any change was a blessing to Steve. The thick, golden fur on his legs was slowly dissipating, and his toes were slightly growing. Then the Captain remembered his thoughts about the thumb, and he quickly glanced at his paw more closely. Sure enough, a small thumb was taking shape.

Steve wasted no time. Though the thumb was by no means completely developed, Steve attempted to use it to pull the chains apart. The phalange was clumsy, but eventually the pin came out and Steve's foreleg was free. Almost giddy with excitement, Steve tried to get off the collar and muzzle as well. The muzzle was very difficult, and it took Steve nearly ten minutes to get his make-shift hands under the complex straps and move the whole contraption off his head. Despite all the progress, Steve's efforts were stopped at the collar, which would require delicate hand to unfasten. Steve again focused on the curse that still lingered in his mind, wondering if maybe, just maybe he could really reverse it fully.

* * *

_"James...wake up."_

_He slowly slitted his throbbing blue eyes open, listening to the wailing feminine cries in the dark. Slight discomfort as etched on his chiseled features as he felt a cold cloth dab over the curve of his jaw. He blinked a few times and adjusted his focus, everything was blurry as he squinted to the burned out ceiling light sparking above him. All the pain he had experience was rushing over him like intense waves, he reeled himself off the dirt floor, preparing to vomit but a dainty hand held him down with gentle pressure against his shoulder. His brow furrowed and his grayish eyes fully opened, settling on slender black leather clad figure, and he closed his hazed eyes once more to ease the stinging pain of the penetrating headache raging in his skull._

_"You need to stay alert ..." He listened to a familiar voice waft through the dense air of a confinement."They''ll kill us."_

_"Who are you?" he asked, knitting his eyebrow, trying to make out the face of his cell mate. He reached out a shaky hand but the figure pulled back. His tongue was thick as he repeated the same question, "Who are you?"_

_She didn't respond to him, instead she leaned in forward, grasping him by the shoulders with a warm grip of her fingers as he managed to ease him down flat on his back, applying gentle pressure in hopes that he would remember her and make him snap out of his delusional state. He winced slight feeling the dagger wound of Brock Rumlow throb inside the muscles of his abdomen as he was slowly entering a stage of shock, he was trembling and clattering his teeth as his body began to produce sickening sweat. He rolled off his back and turned to his side, hands rubbing over his graven chest._

_"He sent you to kill me..." James parted his lips, his pants of air becoming laced with coattails of breath._

_"Now why would I do that?" she curled up against him, pressing herself against the bare muscular planes of his sweaty back. "Don't you remember me, James?" she whispered hotly against his neck, her lips grazed over his scarred and blemished skin and she enclosed her trim arms around his waist from behind, resting her chin on his metal shoulder. She whispered over the hollow of his neck and rough jaw, his long drenched locks of dampened her forehead._

_"I remember you..." He replied, feeling the calming presence but not seeing it. Darkness cloaked over their bodies as he interlaced his fingers with hers. He grimace as the tension started to build in his stomach. He opened his mouth and expelled amounts of acidly bile onto the floor. He shivered feeling the icy coldness of his feverish symptoms crept into his aching bones but he was rendered useless from the dosage of medication his handlers laced his food with, and he tried to say her name but his mind was becoming thick like cotton and his lips grew numb._

_"I know you do, James" she answered, pressing her lithe form tighter against him, blanketing him with her warmth as she massaged the planes of his chest with circular motion of her fingers. __"We're going to find a way out of this," he heard her breateh. Her voice was calm, assuring and low, his eyes opened as his hand reached up and cupped over the curve of her jaw. She enveloped his hand , her warm palm heating his knuckles as they met the other's gaze._

_He smiled lightly up at her, his metal finger over her bottom lip. __Her dark eyes scanned over his laden features._

_"Anna," he said with a strained husky tone, looking into her misty pools of coffee and she nodded, brushing back his bangs delicately off his sweat glistening forehead. "Did they hurt you?" She slid her finger down his nose before her lips brushed softly over his brow, soothing him in a way that drifted him back into a sheltered place as his lips nestled over her pulse point._

_"Don't worry about me," she purred with a lowly voice, her finger threading the rakish strands of hair touching the broadness of his shoulders. "Just breathe and relax. I'm right here. I'm not leaving you."_

_He drifted into a peaceful slumber but his lips were still pressed on her jaw and she smiled, and curled herself up against him, watching him protectively as her fingers brushed over the smooth curvatures of his ashen face and the distinct lines of his mouth that twitch as he curved his soft lips into a gentle smile. She pressed a chaste kiss, embracing the rugged skin of his cheek and closed her eyes not knowing what to expect once the dawn comes but also felting the beat of his strong heart telling her that hope still existed._

_She heard the words of the madness and torment chime in her ears as she lifted her head off his shoulder and narrowed her dark gaze at him grimacing lips. She knew that his nightmares had found a way to invade his peace, gripping her fingers over the trembling flesh of his arm, before she closed her eyes, feeling her mouth curve into a content smile before she caressed his firm muscles, lightly with her lips and rested her head on his hard chest, listening in his heart beat._

_Anna pressed her lips tentatively on his tensed slackened muscles, and then she whispered a cool breath over his scars, "I love you..."_

* * *

Bucky forced his eyes open the moment he felt a little nose twitching against his muzzle. Agony jolted through his bones. Memories of Anna scarred over his heart. He felt the restraints of guilt. It took a few labored breaths to erase the unpleasant dryness in his throat. When he regained clarity out of the blurry haze Bucky felt the coldness of the heavy snowfall covering his ebony fur, still establishing that the fact he was in fact, being smothered by kitten affection.

The warmth of the touch jarred him awake. "Whoa," he instantly stood upright on his paws, he blinked the exhaustion out of his owlish eyes. Taking a few breaths, he readjusted to his senses. "Focus soldier," he chided in irritation as a moan followed. After finally, gaining stability with his emotions, he stared down at the timid female purring and nuzzling against his fur. She was trembling badly. He could see the trauma dwelling in her ice blue eyes. Fear was overtaking her. Without the security of a mother, she and her twin brother would die.

His blue eyes filled with many emotions. Anguish. Doubt. He realized that she was slowly dying. She'd been fighting to survive ever since he encountered the occultist in the graveyard, and looked at the body of the dead cat. Her mother. The kitten meowed. It almost sounded like...a cry...a pain filled cry. Tightness evaded his muscles, enhancing his physical discomfort. Her brother was healthy. She was stubborn much like him. "Don't worry kid," Bucky strained as he narrowed his muzzle and touched the side of the kitten's head, trying to assure her with a nudge.

She body tensed and she turned away, sick and reeling. His heart sunk down to his stomach, and he moved her closer to his belly, using his metal paw to secure her against the bite of cold. He was silent. He closed his eyes, purring with a comforting tone, and holding her. "Just hang in there, little punk." He said using the nickname he called Steve. "I know that things suck at the moment. Everything's gonna be alright. You've got me..." Bucky wasn't sure if he believed in his own words. Even though it was likely that the kitten understand, he still felt compelled to say them regardless.

The kitten curled into a ball close to his hind legs. Her stubby tail swayed a little against his tensed stomach. She released a dismal cry. "Mew,"

"Kid...I-I'm sorry," The cat felt his last reserves of strength expand itself in his slender physically as well as emotionally trying to struggle. A heavy breath emerged from his throat when he screwed his eyes shut to the agony. Fire devoured everything within him, until he felt hollow, and the vise in his chest squeezed his heart and lungs so tight he could barely breathe.

"No," he managed as voice broke into a desperate sob. "I've seen so much death...I don't want to see yours." he confessed mournfully. He was creeping to the edge of despair. His stomach churned, and fever engulfed his body. Gritting his teeth, Bucky grabbed her small form, pushing her back into the snowfall, and leveled his glistening blue eyes on her. "Listen to me, I'm not giving on you, kid. I will fight for your life. No matter the cost." He promised, feeling the words of Steve Rogers ignite like a flame in his chest. He lowered his head, and nuzzled his face against her straining belly. "You're my mission," he whispered, soft and brotherly.

The female responded to his words, and purred against his metal limb. Bucky reached over, opened his jaws to instantly lift up the male. He was gentle as his fangs dug into the kitten's furry neck, and he eased the heaviness of the two off the step, and placed him close to his twin sister. "Stick close to me, kids," Bucky ordered roughly, his long tail curled over their small bodies.

Something didn't feel right. There was a familiar and comforting scent mixed in with the chill of the air.

It smelt like lavender and roses. "I know that smell," he spoke distantly, his nose twitching as he caught the scent once again. It drew him out of his despair. "It's beautiful...Almost like..." He stepped forward; a calming presence was lulling him closer. The urge to meet a ghost trapped within the prisons of winter was overwhelming. His pale blue eyes welled with tears. He clung onto his pain and regret.

He turned his head away from the street-feeling suddenly alarmed as his sharp senses registered the multiple heart beats of another that grew stronger each second. At first, his primal instinct was to defend the kittens, but as the scent wafted closer; he sunk back into the shadows, hesitant to advance.

* * *

From several yards away, two sharp feline eyes peered at the stairwell where Bucky sat with the two kittens. The amber eyes were full of despair and regret, and although they belonged to one who longed to rush forward, the cat could not bring itself to move. It remained concealed and still as stone, watching the three cats in silence. Anna had been trailing Bucky for a while now, but her thoughts were too conflicted for her to know how to act. Something kept holding her back, and yet another force was drawing her soul forward. All this left her heart aching and her mind racing, and still no solution had presented itself.

The snow was falling lightly now, landing on Anna's silky ebony fur and making a light dusting of pale whiteness on her coat, but she did not move to shake it off. The air was frigidly cold, reminding Anna of the bonds of HYDRA. She longed for warmth, for unquenchable fire and the security of the summer breeze. However, she did like a portion of winter: the Winter Soldier.

* * *

Feeling his heart thumping faster in his chest, Bucky stared into the tender warm gaze of Anna through the flakes of snow. Immeasurable anger had increased in his body. "No," he seethed out coldly, bowing his head; unable to stare beyond the heavy snowfall obstructing his vision. "She can't be alive ..." He whispered. His words softened and drowned out with sobbing noises erupting from the back of his throat. "She is dead..."

With his soul screaming inside his disheveled feline body, Bucky brought his metal paw up to his face and allow the claws to sink in. He felt his eyes tearing up, but he refused to cry. He felt his humanity ripping out of him, breath seized in his lungs and vision blotted into splotches of white. All his emotions were pouring out of him, bones twisted against drenched fur and rage boiled in his blood.

This wasn't the first time he felt her presence watching him from shadows. The first time was on street when he fought Steve and Natasha Romanova through the clouds of smoke and shards of broken glass. He remembered sensing her as he stalked closer to a silver van, and then there was the explosion. She must have been part of the crowd, or inside a barricaded vehicle. What if he shot her when he released a hail of bullets from the overpass or she had gotten wounded during an explosion that rained glass over the streets?

A stab of fear lanced into his heart. His limbs became frozen as stone. He barely could muster enough strength to lift himself off the step and search for her. Bucky felt his insides twist each time he thought of her huddled in a corner somewhere in the city, bleeding out her pain. Jumping off the his perch, he landed clumsily on his paws, and found himself trapped within eye contact of another...female black cat across the street. Resistance was pending in his heart, he dared himself a glance, and stared her down with his menacing glacial eyes. His muzzle contorted into a unperturbed scowl.

"What?" Bucky looked between parked and the sulking cat with mixed emotions ranging from anger to sorrow and finally denial. He stared intently at the female that seemed to shy away from his gaze as though it were somehow ashamed of its appearance. His heart twisted painfully as the implications arose as he contemplated on his enhanced senses when he first smelt. "Lavender and roses..." He whispered to himself until realization dawned on him. "No..." He voice began to crack.

NO!" He growled out, tears threatened to escape his eyes but he blinked them back angrily. "You're dead. This is a trick!" His vision clouded, eyes became clouded with a mixture of despair and rage. They eventfully settled on the female cat in front of him, another victim's of HYDRA's malevolence and crimes against humanity.

Bucky knew what it was like to be unmade; to have his humanity and his freewill taken from in the most horrific of ways possible...and he would have let it happen to himself many of times over if it meant sparing Anna's life. So that the woman he loved would never have to experience the horrors inflicted upon his body in those dark days were death seemed preferable to a life as a weapon-a tool. And now his past was haunting again...and James Barnes felt like had failed his mission. He hated himself for not being there when she needed him-protecting her with his own blood, sweat and tears. He didn't deserve her love...He didn't deserve to feel her soft kiss capture the fullness of his lips. It rendered him to feel unsettled.

_It can't be her..._

Anna immediately averted her gaze as she met the Bucky's enraged eyes. Her first instinct was to run, but she didn't. She wasn't sure she could stay away from the situation much longer, and it was more than likely that the Winter Soldier needed her help. Those kittens were weak, and Bucky's eyes betrayed exhaustion. She ought to step forward right now. She ought to run and hide. Anna clenched her eyes shut and tried to think clearly.

_Does he remember me?_

The terrible question entered her mind unbidden, but then now she couldn't dismiss it. What if HYDRA had brainwashed all Bucky's memories of her out of his mind for good? The idea sent daggers of fear into Anna's heart, and this fear helped her finally overcome equilibrium and make a decision. Slowly, Anna took a trembling step in James's direction, her ears down in submission and her eyes looking at the ground.

Bucky felt a vicious pulse. His blood turned into ice. The relentless wind slammed against his body, knocking him off balance. He regained stability in his weight and just stares at her with dismal blue eyes. It took great effort to face her. "Do I know you?" he spoke in roughened hoarse voice, breath hastened as he took a step forward thinking that the shadows fooled his eyes and ears or if she was truly there. Could his beautiful Anna be concealed in the eclipse of snow and darkness? He had to coax the stray to move closer to him, to try and unveil the secret of the curse.

He felt the sting of loss...and betrayal.

Doubt and turmoil fled his mind as he took shaken steps towards the cowering feline at the narrow opening of the alley that could scarcely meet his cloudy and exhausted eyes. He stared at her, stared like she was just a ghost caught in his storms of delusions. His eyes widened, they were hollow and glazed with cold uncertainty. She wasn't how he remembered her, fierce, graceful and beautiful, but she was alive.

She looked timid and disheveled. All those years of roaming the cities of the world in search for the Winter Soldier had damaged her, scarred and destroyed her fighting spirit. She was just a shade of gray. There were familiar remnants of Anna hidden within the vessel of the cat. A light color of brown near her chest, it was the exact color of her silky long hair. Gentle features of her face, no longer soft ivory, but ebony fur. Her full red lips had vanished, just a mouth of cat. Her eyes, so rich and warm like coffee, ever so bright, despite the transformation. She was Anna, but a still ghost, too. She was no longer the woman he had known from the Red Room or in the dark chambers of Leviathan.

A flicker of doubt crossed his heart. His blue eyes were bright with fever and mouth sealed close for moment; he swallowed down a gulp of air. He wanted to cast out all doubt, and believe that she wasn't there with him; trapped inside a feline body, but somehow he was convinced that the cat was her. A dull clang sounded and he did not realize that his metal paw slammed into the ground. He slowly came to her and schooled his features in an effort to appear strong despite the emotions threatening to overpower him. "Can you tell me your name?"

Anna's mouth was dry. Her body shook, both from the cold and her inner battle. But there was nothing else to do except respond. With a trembling jaw, she chanced a look into Bucky's pale eyes, every bit of hope left in her bubbling into her answer. "Anna," she said quietly, the name sounding almost foreign to her ears. No one had called her that in so long that she had almost forgotten the name herself. Then, swallowing hard, she dared to add a question of her own. "James?"

Dismissively, Bucky's ears flattened and his pupils began to slit into a diamond shape. He searched for any deception in her words and found none; they would have dulled in his ears if his ingrained feline senses didn't respond to the name that escaped from her mouth. Bucky felt his insides churn and resume his torment each time he stared at her. It was a risk; he was putting the lives of his little companions at great risk allowing her to invade his space. Still, he genuinely knew she wasn't out to harm any of them. Swallowing down the acid building up his throat, he looked into her eyes and found his love beyond the vestiges of the cat.

"...Anna?" His voice came out in a quiet whisper.

* * *

**A/N: A huge thank you to my wonderful and amazing co-writer Thalion Estel and to all the readers. This chapter was split up into two parts. The next part will be posted tomorrow. Thank you and enjoy.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

* * *

"Anna..." His grimaced with disdain at the sound of his new voice, Much more deeper and colder than the one he was used to sharing with her. Bucky felt his bones freezing up, tensing in complete shock, and then looked at her while feeling his heart writhing and twisting in his chest. He felt wounded. Cold ice pierced through his heart as he listened to the quite whisper of her voice attribute against the snowy air.

He didn't want to move, his vision blurred for a moment as he stared into the void between them. "You can't be her..." He growled and his face fractured into an abashed expression. His wet fur became a disarray mess. His breath drew out ragged. His eyes enlarged, realizing HYDRA's deception. "They told me..." He felt his heart clench with revulsion. A small flutter of panic overwhelmed him. _Dead. Dead. She's dead. The voice of Alexander Pierce filled his head._He felt sick to his stomach. His eyes coated with moisture."... you died?" he spoke dismally.

_He sat against the wall, his bare muscles hardened as flecks of snow lashed over his still body. His disheveled draped over his face, he was searching for her. It had been three days since he remembered feeling her hand interlock at his metal fingers. Suddenly his solace was interrupted by Alexander Pierce his main superior and surrogate father. He didn't respond to footsteps crunching in the snow. His blue eyes lowered and jaw clenched as he tucked his knees closer to his chest, feeling the strain of muscle as darkness flooded over his ragged features. "I have some news that you need to hear." Pierce said with no emotion in his low baritone. "It grieves me to tell you that Agent Anya Volkov failed her mission."_

_"What..." The Winter Soldier's expression flattened into a grimace. It felt emotions becoming unraveled. "She-she never fails." he croaked in panic, feeling his heart sink into the pit of his churning stomach, it felt like a killing strike right into the chest. Muscles bruised and bones jostled. "She always comes back..."_

_"She is dead. The body as been deposed of and you will soon forget about her." Pierce said in a instructive voice; there was a threatening edge to his soft one. He stiffened his jaw with a displeased glower settling down on HYDRA's weapon. "All the memories of her will be wiped...And she will become nonexistent to you as all those feelings you had for her will melt away... " He rotated his body to the rising smoke emerging from a brick stack, a sadistic grin flickered across his aging features. "I will give you one chance to see her again." He crouched down, and grabbed the messy locks of the young man's hair; forcing James to stare at the smoke with tear filled eyes. "Look at her..."_

_"I don't want to..." James protested, as Pierce slapped his ears with dangerous pressure, making blood seep out. His heart was pumping faster, driving into overdrive as his vision blurred against the coating of tears. His fists clenched and breath grew heavier as he caught a glimpse of the black haze escalating into the snow clouds. "Anna!" he roared, his blue eyes burning in crazed rage, vile hatred and brutal grief. It buried deep as he choke out his sobs and lowered his face into his metal and fleshed hands; he opened his mouth and released everything out. "NO!"_

* * *

"I did die," Anna answered bitterly, her voice broken. "Look at me, James: I am dead!" Tears stung her eyes and her chest heaved in deep breaths. She was suddenly angry for all HYDRA had done to her and taken from her. She was nothing now. Technically her heart had not ceased, but she knew that she really was dead in a sense. "Anna did die," she whispered in despair. "I am nothing but her cursed ghost."

Bucky's throbbing heart sank in his chest as he realized what happened to her and what was about to happen to them, His eyes hardened with intent focus and he knew there was only one that might heal them both. Taking quick steps forward, Bucky came into her line of sight and said in a beseeching voice, "Anna! You're alive." His tone cracked as he saw the absent look in her golden eyes as they met his. "Don't you dare say that you're dead." He spat out strangled words like they were clogged in his throat. His tight muscles seized, and the world turned into a haze of white. His eyes became steel."You're alive"

Despite her tears, Anna shook her head giving him a stony glare with the darkness of her eyes. Through her tears she saw the hidden pain in his face. "You don't understand what I've been through." She snarled. Her claws slowly retracting out. "I had peace, James, when I was with you." she bluntly declared in a heated breath. Venom seeped from her mouth. Bitterness and remorse pinned against her heart. She narrowed her eyes alone, and released a shaky exhale. "I had peace when you didn't wear the mask and become HYDRA's murderous lapdog."

Bucky moved away, struggling against with rages of emotions. "Look at me, Anna." He tried to keep his voice gentle and level, but the guilt was edging closer to his heart. After all, he was the one that pulled her into his hellish world, she was a victim. She'd loved him. She'd allowed her humanity to betray her. She'd almost lost everything. And HYDRA took her from him. "You think that it was my choice?" he seethed, a soft rumble of exhaustion vibrated in his chest. "I lost everything. Zola took everything. Memories of my life, family and friends. I felt undead. I had a heartbeat but not sense of what it meant to live without blood on my hands."

Anna grimace a little at his words. She finally met his gaze. Her eyes filled with vehemence and grief. "HYDRA tortured us until we felt nothing. It was dehumanization II suppose, treating us like caged animals...slaves. They made feel like we had nothing left to fight for...Just slaves forced to taste the red rain as it poured from the bodies we'd compromised." Tears emancipated from her eyes and rolled down her muzzle. "...it was how we survived." she sniffled; head bowing downward as faint whimper escaped her.

An inhumane whine erupted from Bucky's throat as he tensed up and retreated away from her and further back into the shadows. The moonlight poured into the alley and illuminated across his feline silhouette. His metal paw shakily reached and dug into his wild and drenched fur, sinking his claws into his head. "Do you believe you are the only one that is in pain?! I could never have given you the life you would have wanted - let alone the one you deserved, Anna!" He growled, removing his paw from his face.

"We both knew it would end like this! You were a beautiful woman. I was a monster who hunted for blood...We're not human anymore." His tone quivered as all the realities he had shielded himself from began to jostle him. "I'm just a pale reflection of the soldier you once loved...and soon to be distant memory in the minds of everyone who dared to looked at me."

"I don't care about our past. I don't want anything else stolen from us." She gave him a piercing look. "That witch scarred me when she forced me to give up my humanity to keep you alive."

Bucky tilted his head down. His muzzle clenched. His eyes watered in terror as he allowed the truth become ingrained into him. Tarnished and discolored images of his past ceased to bleed in his mind. It was ink dripping over the bundles of memory, smudging and smearing the faces of soldiers America and Russian. He absorbed every feeling, and tried to regain clarity, as easy as he could. Misshapen faces dissolved into a red, slipping and detaching between thick weaves of a spider's web until tentacles wiggled up from the abyss and twisted over his throat. His tears turned to blood and flesh to metal as the monsters pulled him into the fathoms and made him drown into the thickness of his sins.

Bucky flashed his eyes open, angry. He glared at her, cold and hardened. His gaze morphed into soulless blue eyes of the Winter Soldier. No gleams of tenderness, just pure vengeance."You should have fought..." He whispered shattered emotional voice. His face dripping with tears, sinking into his fur. "You strike before they strike you down. I trained you to kill when it became necessary." He became lost from words.

"I didn't want to kill," she hissed lowly, her eyes shining with furious tears. "I wanted to live without being under the gun."

He swallowed his trepidation and wore a firm yet compassionate look as he watched her; feared for her and what had been done to her by the sordid curse. The unkempt black fur showed visible signs of neglect and enduring a life as a stray-a forgotten soul trapped inside an illusion of a witch's punishment because she loved him. He felt a shard of guilt lance through his body as he stared into her icy feline eyes.

The fact that she was still standing this fierce, this determined, was a testament to her inner strength and willpower. But he knew more than anyone that strength and willpower could be directed positively or negatively. He'd glimpsed the ugly side that was negative. He reveled and was controlled through it. It was a side that still haunted his nightmares and he knew now how dangerously close Anna was to teetering over the edge-surrendering to the curse.

If she did, he would lose her.

"I'don't what your feeling..." He tried sympathetically to earn her attention; sparing no glance at the disgruntled kittens who glared at him through the falling snow. "There's no one in HYDRA that I wouldn't kill to bring you back into my arms." He watched her eyes well up with tears, taking his words as a sense of peace. Bucky quickly continued. "You're here with me, Anna. Look at me...I'm not even a human...Just a mangy cat that doesn't deserve a second look, but you are beautiful and I have never forgotten you." He said to her almost lovingly, taking slow careful steps forward with his paws pushing into the snow. "I have always been in love with you..."

Anna was not sure how to respond. She could barely remember what affection was like, but she knew that she needed it. She had perhaps been dying for lack of it, falling victim to the curse's advances because she lacked a reason to fight it. Daring to step forward, she looked over Bucky with a glance that did not fully lack suspicion. Could this be real, this dream that had been in her heart for so long?

"James," she began, her voice quiet and unsure, "...do you mean that?" Doubt flooded her eyes, and she swept her paw across the snow nervously. "How can you be here? How do I know that this isn't another torturous plot of HYDRA?" Another tear slipped from her eye. "I don't know what is real anymore, what is true..."

It felt a bullet slammed into his chest at that moment. His breath was knocked out of him. He couldn't move.

Bucky felt his muscles tightened. "Our memories are true..." His voice shuttered. The world tipped, and snow lashed over his face. Raging guilt coiled in his stomach. His pained blue eyes stared at the pools of distress in her eyes, murky grayness covered their allure and fierceness. Her soul. Just for a moment, he saw her, the woman -the real Anna. A beauty more deadly than a gun, and sharper than any wielding knife. He saw the woman he loved.

"I thought I lost you." He revealed his despondent voice crackled with pain. Ugly. Twisting and aching grief. "Somehow I knew it was just another trick of deception to make submit to the programming." Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. A bitter tone seeped out his throat. "You're here with me...We're still not free."

A flicker of hope flashed in Anna's eyes at the word "free". Looking longingly at Bucky's expression, she could not deny its authenticity. This was the man she had once known and loved, though something about him was different. It was almost as if he had been exposed to light after many years in darkness. Anna knew that was a ridiculous notion, especially with them both being under a terrible curse, but she was sure that something had happened to James to make him more...human.

"You talk as though we can become free," she began slowly. Her voice wavered to crack. "Is that even possible?"

Bucky stood still with his back still facing her, warring with himself. His heart aching to hold her his arms while his mind told him to maintain a vow of silence. One that would painfully make his statement across. His head hung low while his shoulders trembled with uncertainty. It wasn't long before a sharp unpleasant feeling circling in his chest. He knew it to be dread. Bucky couldn't let himself fall apart here in front of her. He needed to be her strength; her beacon in this darkness she had faced and endured.

"I'm sorry. I never meant for this to happen. Everyone gets harmed because of me…" The words escaped in soft whisper, giving light to the guilty abyss he felt from within. If he had only been there; if he had not left her alone with that witch he could have stopped this from happening to her. Anna had her humanity stripped. She had been unmade. "If I had known what HYDRA was planning...I would've found a way to keep you safe." He snapped his head around; looking back at the kittens. He had grown attached to them as their big brother. "I'm trying to find way out for all of us." He lowered his head. "It's because of me, the only friend I ever had shares this stupid curse."

"What friend?" Anna asked her brow creasing as she tried to think of who James could mean. The only friend she could remember Bucky professing to have was a Captain, but that had been seventy years ago, and James had never been sure of those memories anyway.

Bucky swallowed. Steve's life was hanging in the balance in HYDRA's game. "Steve." He drew out a hushed and tender breath. His voice low and full of disdain. The storm that swirled inside of him eased at the mention of his best friend. "His name is Steve Rogers. I let him just walk away. I abandoned him when he needed me." He bit into his lips hopefully; tears clung to his whiskers, refusing to drip. "That dumb punk has a good sense of direction. He always finds his way back...I mean, he knows how to find me even when I forget where home is..."

"Steve Rogers," Anna mumbled to herself, not recognizing the name and too eager to learn about how to undo the curse to ask for additional details. "I suppose he's around here somewhere? Just leaving you to watch the kids, I suppose." Anna grinned as Bucky's ears bent back a bit at the tease. "That one there," she said in a more serious tone, nodding to the female kitten, "she looks like she could use some rest and food."...Actually, I think you all could. Why don't we find your friend and we'll get something to eat?"

Bucky let out a sigh, clearing his throat. "Anna, I'm not putting you in the line of fire. I lost you once. " The cat raised his head and looked into her eyes; two storms met one another in an intense stare. He never wanted to lose sight of her._Not ever._ "Never again."

Anna let Bucky's assurance ring in her ears as she stood only inches from the face she had dreamed about for so many lonely days. Her heart was beating rapidly and her good sense was wondering what she was doing when she should be focused on the problem, but her soul was tired and her spirit nearly broken. She wanted to feel something again, to register the warmth of another's gentle touch.

Looking into Bucky's icy-blue eyes, Anna felt her last bit of reservation melt away. Closing her eyes, she moved her head forward and rubbed it lightly against James' soft jaw line, savoring the contact as if it were pure gold. A purr escaped her cold lips, and when she opened her eyes again, they were sparkling with new purpose and hope. This truly was the man she loved, trapped though he was, and she was never going to allow HYDRA to separate them again.

Bucky released a shaky breath nuzzling against her. Fears and insecurities that once tugged and restrained him in the past where long torn away and he never felt more strength, freedom and conviction in his words than he did now as he professed as a smile crept across his face. "I love you, Anna." His eyes locked with the same pair he had become so familiar when fighting against the bone numbing tortures of the Red Room. She was his life line. He rubbed his mouth softly up her face, imaging he felt her ivory skin heat against the fullness of his lips. He knew they would become human, and he would share new life with her. He had a mission to finish. Steve was in trouble, and he had to pull the super-soldier out of the darkness. He had a lost soldier to find. As he leaned his head to hers, Anna closed her eyes, and inhaled his strength deeply. She felt warm. She had a home. "I will never abandon you ever again." he whispered, sounding much like the defiant soldier he once was before the fall. "No matter what cost I will pay...You will be free..."

"We both are in this together," Anna whispered against his fur, her mouth pressing adoringly against his muzzle. A kiss. She was kissing him. "I will fight with you until the end of the line. Cat or human...I am yours."

Bucky wrapped his metal paw around her front leg, securing his love with her, and he whispered hotly, "You're mine...Kotenok."

* * *

Steve found the curse very difficult to comprehend, but it seemed most like a poison in his soul. If the poison could be drawn out and his mind purged of it, then his body was sure to follow. But to attack something as potent as this curse would require a lot of will power and possibly divine intervention. Luckily, Captain America was known for both a strong will and a strong faith.

Almost like a tactician, Steve began waging his war against the curse, all without moving a muscle. It was so unlike anything he had ever done that at first he thought perhaps he was still in a dream. But something reassured him that this was real and vitally important, and therefore he kept at it. He isolated the curse from the rest of his mind very slowly, and when he was finally separated from it, he began destroying it. Even he was not sure exactly how this was occurring; Steve relied on instinct and the fact that he was feeling great and wonderful relief as the curse lost ground.

Then, all at once, it was over. Steve's eyes flashed open and he refocused on his physical surrounds, wondering how much time had passed. He felt like he had just awakened from a very long and deep slumber, and his body was refreshed. Not only that, but with one hesitant glance, he realized that the curse's effects had vanished, and he was himself again. The process had evoked no physical pain, and actually Steve had no memories of the change whatsoever. All he knew was that he was human again and he had to get out of here.

The problem now was, of course, how to escape. Thankfully he had been a big husky, and therefore the cage in which he was trapped was big enough for even a human. But it was still locked, and a collar was still around his neck. Somehow the latter restraint suddenly seemed ten times as degrading as before, and Steve immediately began working at it to take it off. He achieved success and tossed the accursed fetter aside, edging forward to examine the cage's lock.

Steve sighed with joyful relief when he found that the cage was secured not by a lock that required a key but a bolt that need only be grasped, twisted, and pulled out. This task would be impossible for any animal, but now it was easy. Steve slipped his fingers through the bars and yanked on the rusty bolt. After resisting the movement for a brief second, the lock came free and he door creaked open.

Steve didn't waste a moment. He quickly crawled out of the cage and refastened it shut. He then glanced over the whole room, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon. He spotted an old wrench, and having nothing better, he picked it up and moved to the door. It would probably be suicide to charge out of the room without a better opportunity, so Steve ran to the wall and waited beside the entrance for the agent to return, adrenaline coursing through his veins almost as thickly as hope and purpose.

It was nearly an hour later that footsteps came near on the other side of the door. Steve gripped the wrench in his hands tightly and took in a long breath. Slowly, the door beside him opened, and the operative from before stepped into the room. As soon as the man was in clear sight, Steve stepped forward and delivered a hard blow onto the agent's skull, sending him unconscious to the concrete floor with a dull thump.

Steve stood over his fallen enemy with rage burning in his heart, and for a moment he considered killing the operative right there and then. The man deserved death and more for his terrible crimes, and Steve had the perfect window to administer justice. It would save so many lives, wouldn't it? A thousand practical and logical reasons flooded Steve's mind, and he nearly gave in to his whim's demands. But at the last moment, Steve stayed his hand. This man, no matter how polluted by evil, was still a man. He still had a right to a trial, and Steve was not in a position to ethically carry out a death sentence, especially on an unarmed man. Wasn't he, the legendary Captain America, the image of justice through law? Steve felt shame wash over him, and he quickly forgot his desire for vengeance. Instead, he focused his mind back on the mission: escape.

Steve undressed the operative and put the clothes on himself. The man's face looked very little like Steve's, but hopefully he would never have to face any guards before engaging them. The agent thankfully had a gun and knife on him, which Steve graciously took. He then propped the man up and tied his hands around a pole in the back corner of the room. Steve would call his friends inside the new S.H.I.E.L.D. and report the location of this place for them to sweep as soon as he got out, and then this maniac would be arrested.

Now armed and somewhat disguised, Steve felt prepared enough attempt the escape. He quietly opened the door and slipped through, easing it shut behind him. Straight ahead was a staircase leading up, presumably out of what must have been a basement to the ground floor. Steve soon found himself in a hallway with no furniture or wall adornments; just a closed doors on each side. He ignored these and continued walking until he encountered a door at the hall's end. It was shut and locked, but Steve's gut told him to go for it, so taking a step back, he ran forward and smashed the door off its hinges.

Steve took in room as quickly as he could. Two operatives were inside, but more importantly, there was a window leading to a street. The agents immediately pulled out their weapons and began firing at Steve, who fired back as he dove for cover behind a couch. The men must be directly in front of him, and if he so much as poked his head out from the sofa, he would receive a bullet. A smile curved up Steve's lip as he realized that these operatives had not planned well for an encounter with a super soldier.

Steve put his sidearm back in his belt and faced the back of the couch. Then, with all the strength he could muster, he began pushing against the furniture, gaining momentum with very quickly. In only a fraction of a second, he was running against the sofa, using it as a ram against his foes. He slammed it into the agents and sent them and the couch careening into the wall. He did not wait around to let them try to bounce back from his attack. He sprinted towards the window and jumped through it, shattering the glass with ease and continuing his run the moment his feet touched the pavement. He had to get away.

Steve didn't bother to use the sidewalk; he was going faster than the cars on the road anyway. He looked to his left and right as often as he dared, trying to recognize where he was. He was pretty sure this was D.C., but he wasn't sure which part. After cutting between traffic and streets, he slowed down and began moving as stealthily as possible, searching for any quiet place with people from whom he could borrow a phone.

Finally, he came across a green belt with clumps of trees and hilly trails, all ideal for hiding. He politely asking a young woman sitting on a bench for her phone, and after calming down her squeals of delight, he received the moblie device and called Sam Wilson.

* * *

** A/N : I want to thank my wonderful co-writer for helping me so much with this story. Also JuliaAurelia for being an amazing reader and also inspiring to improve my writing. For the next chapter Sam Wilson comes into the picture and so does Peggy Carter. Enjoy and thank you. **

**Kotenok -Kitten**


	19. Chapter 19

**Greatest Price**

**{Chapter 19}**

* * *

The walk to Steve's apartment proved longer than he had thought it would be, perhaps as a result of his racing mind. Without anyone to back him up, he couldn't have really saved anyone from HYDRA, could he? Doubt continued to gnaw at Cap's heart as he walked in the shadows. He wasn't even sure that there had been any hostages. But he should have at least checked, shouldn't he?

Steve shook those thoughts from his mind as he reached his apartment. He recognized that his guilt was probably an advance of the curse as it tried to regain control, but he couldn't allow that to happen. He needed some very important belongings, and his thoughts could not be clouded while he executed the extraction. HYDRA was undoubtedly still here and on high alert.

The curse flashed a memory of Bucky, frightened and cold, falling from the train in Germany. His icy eyes had been calling for the help of a brother, and the sight of them before they retreated into the white blur was burned into Steve's head. Bucky's fingers had been mere inches from Steve's, his life's outcome shrunk within the measure of a hand. So close, he had been so close. And yet the famous Captain America had failed, and his friend had died, or rather, faced worse than death.

Steve's eyes misted over, and he blinked the tears away, but the pain in his soul remained. He looked down fearfully and saw that his arms were more hairy than they had been. No, not now! Steve could not let this happen to him again.

However then Steve gave that idea a second look. Wouldn't a dog be far less suspicious to agents than Captain America, whose face was plastered on half a dozen billboards in the surrounding blocks, not to mention TV and the web? Maybe he ought to bring down his safeguards, let the curse recover control for a couple of minutes, and sneak in as an husky.

This idea was so preposterous that Steve was not even sure that it could be passed as ethical. Surely accepting a curse was wrong. But then again, the dog form itself was not evil, and Steve would not surrender his mind to it. Though he didn't have a whole lot of time to find more arguments for either side, he felt that this was sufficient. Ignoring his instincts, he let go of a part of his hold on the curse and allowed it to consume his form.

The effect was immediate. The pain was not quite as severe as the first time he had transformed, and fortunately it took much less time, too. But it was still hard to bear, and when Steve was completely canine, he was panting and shaking badly. He took a few seconds to calm himself down and focus his senses before entering a stairwell and going up to his floor.

He passed two men that he was certain were sniper agents, however they just glowered at him as he passed them. To them, he was a regular pooch meandering through his holder's loft. The way to his room was somewhat open, and he pushed it forward with his muzzle and entered, taking in the circumstance rapidly. Three HYDRA agents were inside, two at the window and one situated alongside the entryway. All quickly centered their regard for the gatecrasher, however their interpretation went from ready to appall.

"Get out of here, you flea-bitten mutt," the man close to the entryway said abruptly, pointing a kick toward Steve. The husky limited past the blow and galloped into his kitchen, looking as much like a lively canine as he could. The two operators by the window snickered as their companion rose indignantly to her the dog outside. Steve deliberately drove the agent into his room, and once the man had cleared the entryway, the husky pounced.

His attack greatly surprised the agent, but even though he sank his teeth into the agent's shoulder without any problem, the man did call out as he hit the ground with a thud. Steve used his power and weight to slam the operative's torso against the tile flooring, knocking the man unconscious. He then fought the curse with all the mental energy available to his mind and felt his body slowly transform back into a human. Just before the other two agents arrived at the room's entrance, Steve smashed the door shut and pushed a chair to the handle.

The agents knew there was something incorrectly, however they didn't yet know who was capable, giving Steve a window just the length of it would enjoy them to reprieve down his entryway. He rapidly put on his dark blue stealth uniform and got his shield, the cool metal meeting his fingers with a willingness just found between a man and his weapon. He snatched up his dog tags, a change of clothes which he had left collapsed on his dresser days prior, and his wallet. He spotted a little duffle sack and threw the majority of his things in it, hurriedly zipping it close. At that point, in spite of the smash of time, he tossed open one of this drawers and withdrew his simple necklace with a cross dangling on it. It had once belonged to his mother, and she had told him to take it with him everywhere to remind him that he was never alone or defenseless. Because of this cross, or more accurately the One who had been on the cross, Steve had survived numerous fights, and now he would require the support of provision once more.

The door burst apart and the HYDRA agents rushed through, the first taking a shield to his face and the neck only having a few seconds to gaze in horror before Steve knocked him to the ground with one snappy punch. He took the duffle sack and rushed out the door, expecting that the agents had called for reinforcement. Finally, he threw a chunk of bread and a couple of pieces of fruit in his sack. He hadn't eaten in quite a while, and he would need to walk throughout the day to rendezvous with Sam at the selected secure location.

* * *

Pacing down the shadowy depths of the alleyway, Steve felt battered by the cruel words of the Red Skull caught in the tangling weaves of his rattled thoughts.

_"I thought you were strong to fight the demons. Now, I see that the good doctor's serum was a failure. You are a failure. A worthless coward who hides behind a shield. You never tasted true death. You only drowned in it for seventy years. All the men that gave their lives for independence and freedom. Those are fools. There is no freedom in this world. You are blind by ideals of truth and justice."_

Steve had taken the time to register what the sick and morbid curse the Russian occultist bedeviled him with when he was disarmed and focused on his best friend's distressed cries. He felt compromised by his own faults of not keeping both eyes open when engaging conflict. He failed to become aware of the unseen and obvious threat, and in result of his mistrust to his own gut instincts, he became a victim to a derange malediction of his own soul. _A dog._ HYDRA transformed him into a dog. For what purpose? They had his blood...There was something else hidden beyond those walls of the lab. A secret that involved enslaving humanity within disheveled bodies of frighten and whimpering beasts-cats, dogs and livestock.

Now, the vigorous captain felt like a hostage in his own body. Steve felt like he'd been living on the razor's edge. He couldn't fight the dangerous necromancy without feeling his strength betraying him. It was a risk to escape from the secured safe house and it wasn't the method of extraction he intended to use in order to rid himself from the cages of the occult.

Still, he was hardened with disgrace. He'd failed to liberate the other transformed captives. He was aware of their cries for their hero-the ever vigilant and defiant Captain America to free from out of their prisons of both cage and body. He was no longer the unbreakable soldier -the heart and conscience of the Avengers. HYDRA marked him as a stray fading into his own grievances of the mistakes that he allowed to happen-faults he'd allowed good people to endure when defeat slashed against his shield. Although, he had managed to elude the operatives tracking him after he made a phone call with Sam...He did something that belittled him to the point that he felt despondent. He ran. Steve felt the twisting and clawing of the mounting self-remorse pile over his heart.

Steve had forced himself to believe that he was no longer a that spangled uniform hero. The soldier of nobility and compassion. Peggy would have been disappointed in him for not pushing himself to do what needed to be done for the sake of liberty and freedom. His eyes watered. He felt restrictiveness of his muscles under his uniform, he lowered his head dismally and released a haggard breath as he spared a glance down at his shield tucked under his arm. He couldn't scream out his fury, though, he wanted to release everything with a raw cry, his aggression became clogged and he was left to carry on his traispse with one recurring question filling his mind.

_Is this a test?_

* * *

After gathering himself up, Steve continued his walk through the dim streets, careful to keep his head down and remain in the shadows without drawing too much attention to himself. The routine slowly became unconscious, and when he didn't have to think hard about his movements anymore, Steve found that his mind was growing hazy. It was as if a dark cloud had come before his eyes, engulfing his thoughts even though his body was still moving towards his objective. It was cold and lifeless in the cloud, and his spirit sunk in the gloom. This was undoubtedly a result of the curse, but Steve didn't have the energy to combat it.

There was a sudden frightening sensation undulating through his body. At first Steve didn't respond to the pelting drops until his blue eyes discovered the thickening red shaping in the puddles underneath him. It was red rain that was dousing through his uniform. He challenged himself to gaze upward, and when he did, he saw a dead body of a S.H.E.L.D agent dangling from a bending of wires.

A sniper bullet was lodged in the man's skull and a symbol was craved over the ashen face. A dark and vicious symbol of HYDRA. It was a warning. "Who could have done this?" he dejected. His blue eyes soften and melted with tears. Blood dripped from his tousled blonde hair and slid over his eyelids, rolling aimlessly down his chiseled face. It demolished his spirit.

Feeling the warmth trickling over his skin, Steve screamed wildly as his heart seized in his chest. All of a sudden, everything had faded into murky darkness and he tasted the coppery tang seeping over his grimacing lips. A flicker of shadow invaded his space and caused him to feel immobilized. He was frozen against a brick wall, almost manhandled by an invisible and violent force. His arms rose above his head, and metal clasped over his wrists, a Russian words of a binding spell searing through his skin.

_Submit and taste the faults of your humanity. Become a prisoner of the guilt you carry...Grow weak and fall into the shadows, Captain America._

"Never," Steve gritted his teeth, swallowing down the venomous taste of agony, he knew he had to become stronger against the magic and more resilient as he tried to maintain himself from falling into physical exhaustion. His energy was draining out of him. His heart pounded harder and harder as a mixture of horror and despair overtook him. He didn't want to fail Bucky...He always wanted to prove to his best friend that he was strong-not weak.

The hex was pinning his body against the wall, it squeezed a vice like grip around his thorax and the pain lactated into his core as he felt his ribs tensing against the straggled breaths his lungs tried to produce. He was falling into a numb daze, stomach churned and blood flowed heavier as he felt the serum fighting against the noxious spell. The bewitchment was corrupting and exhausting his protesting muscles.

The curse was depleting him.

Before Steve could seize the opportunity to dissent, his voice was stifled with a cry of anguish as a force slammed his back harsh against the wall and his bones in the wake of the assault. He practically regurgitated bile as the hold of the dark spell was pushing against his body. If felt like hands yanked his shoulders with a violent grip of as the captain punched uselessly, preventing his windpipe from being fractured into pieces. It hurt to breath. He kept struggling; his right hand reached for his tormentors veiled face, trying to dig into the jaw. He had to fight gritty. No limits. Just was a of life and death. He refused to lose. A powerful blow slammed his back into the wall.

Through all the pain and darkness, Steve knew that there was light that could not be tainted or covered. It was that ideal that made him Captain America, and it had proven stronger than evil over and over in his life. He focused his mind on that light and spoke with defiance. "You can't make me give in," he seethed through his gritted teeth. "I hold to the light; day shall come again!"

Steve breathed in forcefully, raising his head and pressing his lips tight. His blue eyes glared agonizingly and angrily at his obscure assailant who now begun to put hard weight on his throat. "Y-Y-You...Won't win!" He sputtered with a frenzied snarl, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"It will be always darkness once the curses devours you-this world will be torn down and reconstructed by the ashes of humanity, righteous hero." The hooded figure taunted with a malicious Irish accent, his cruel dark eyes racking over the man caught inside the folds of his immobilizing spell. A bemusing jeer contorted on the diminished features of the man as he inched himself a breath far from Steve's loosen jaw. "HYDRA has numerous privileged insights that you have been kept oblivious about, Captain Rogers...Or would it be advisable for me to call you Canine America?"

Steve gazed into the icy eyes, yet his memory couldn't put them while his brain was so occupied and cloudy. The haziness appeared to be choking out him, creeping down his throat and filling his lungs with disgusting toxin. It blazed his mouth and nostrils, yet hacking had no effect. His sight couldn't genuinely puncture through the mist, and he was scarcely certain that those unnerving eyes and the dead voice fit in with a human.

"Who are you?" he asked at length, his voice a bit shaky, but still laced with his characteristic resilience. He was weary of this fight, but not yet beaten.

Receiving no response, Steve leveled his piercing icy orbs on the hooded face of a demon of his past. Dredmund Cromwell. A morbid and subversive cult leader with knowledge of alchemy and obsession of ancient magic. He'd harvested on humanity's weakness. He was a butcher of souls. Steve saw the aftermath of the hellish attack-charred bodies of children soaking up puddles of spilled blood.

Cracking his knuckles, the Captain kept his unyielding stare locked on the monster. His lips fastened into a taut grimace as he held onto his defiance. Not giving up the fight. "You think I'm a coward because of your spell...Measures of strength can be measured in smallest of creatures, Cromwell. he spat firmly. His eyes didn't avert from the serpent gaze glaring down at him. "You're not someone I fear. Cromwell..You're another bully who picks on kids."

Cromwell's rumpled lips stretched into a sadistic grin. "My work is a legacy that both the Red Skull and I share. Never did I imagine that you're defeat would be so easy., Captain America. You have been a thorn in our side for decades. Now, you have the taste of power that doesn't come from a bottle."

This time, his glower was loaded with only disdain and a darker malevolence than Steve had ever seen in man's eyes. He looked delicate under the shroud and the hallowness in his eyes were a demonstration of nonappearance of a human soul inside his rotting vessel. He possessed a scent reminiscent of death, and his straggly dark locks fell against his shoulders as he pulled off the hood. His face was indented in and wrinkled peculiarities. The hyper merriment in his smile cleared away that notion as tendrils of blue vitality reflected in his eyes; uncovering him to be every last bit the devil he was inside as he merciless laugh got away from his lips.

"Still ever the upright legend, are you not...boy?" He talked condescendingly as he made his moderate methodology. "That is the thing that you are profound within you. Still a young man accepting he can have any kind of effect amongst monsters and the individuals who are more capable than he could ever want to be." Cromwell pulled far from Steve, his extraordinary dark eyes bolted onto Steve's insubordinate soul. "Your confusions due you no credit, Captain...Neither your friend...Bucky?"

Steve gritted his teeth as those enigmatic words lashed over his heart. His slacked temples bundled and jaw set. He was at that point on the edge. The fever was igniting in his system. He refused to listen to the spiteful words ousting from the Druid's mouth. He wasn't going to submit to the denouncing tone jarring through his stiffening bones. He needed to break the fortification of the spell and find Bucky.

Lifting his stormy blue eyes, he gazed back at Cromwell with a fathomless look of resistance. "At what cost did you hope to gain, Cromwell?" he snarled, with no intention of holding back his fierceness towards the older man before him. "Tell me, how many more lives have you stolen for HYDRA?" He was looking deep into the mage, a sudden attentiveness came over him. Steve shot his eyes to the ground and upon receiving another wicked attack to his body, the captain released a pitiful whimper of a dog out of his bloodless lips.

"Long live America's greatest soldier..."

Steve didn't sit tight for more affront or dangers. With as much strength as he could assemble, he push his right knee into the unhinged man remaining before him. The blow arrived on Cromwell's upper belly, thumping the wind out of him. Steve knew he needed to exploit this opportunity before the devil could respond, so he pushed both his hands forward as hard as possible, pushing the druid back. Steve then spun to the side and got his shield, which appeared to give off its own light in the midst of the profound dimness. Presently outfitted with guard, Steve held up for an assault he was certain would come.

_Keep fighting, Rogers. Remember who you are...You're Captain America. You never quit. You always fight no matter the cost._

Feeling the high torrents of blood running furiously in his veins, Steve clenched his jaw, baring his teeth as breath fumed up his throat. It felt raw."You want to pick fight..." His livid eyes moistened with hot tears, in the contrast of pain, he managed to command his slackened features to become stone-like against the wrathful gaze of the mage. He wasn't standing down and allowing this breed of evil to win. "Come on," He banged his fist over the shield, creating a noise of challenge. He felt a harrowing sense of dread waver from his enemy. "Stop being a coward and face me..."

Cromwell gradually raised his gloved hand at Steve. "Ask yourself this, Captain," he growled with malignant words. "Are you ready to give up your life away to spare James Barnes?"

Steve started back a bit, a million emotions suddenly vying for control in his mind. What was this monster suggesting? That somehow the curse could save Bucky? That didn't make any sense, and based on HYDRA's track record, it was very likely just another one of their lies. Steve glared at the man as fiercely and defiantly as he could, but doubt was gnawing away at his mind, and his courage had faltered.

"What do you mean?" the Captain asked after Cromwell had let the question sink in for a few tensed moments.

Cromwell stayed still with a deadly look all over that showed up as if his skin had been eaten up by shadow. He wound his diminished lips into a vile smile before he immediately veiled it with a look of loftiness. He paused a minute and gazed into the molten sickness of blame shining Steve's blue eyes. He had the soldier dangling on the unraveling string of decision and emotion.

"James Barnes had to pay a price for his defiance. His emotional relapse cost us Pierce and left Rumlow screaming on the operating table. The Baron wants all those who disrupted Project Insight to pay. And now that your friend is suffering a fate worse than death, I guess he knows that it's far over..." He removed a clear vial of blood from his cloak's pocket, watching Steve's eyes darkened as he tipped the substance, and allowed his captive to stare at the collected sample he managed to steal from close to Steve's heart. "Now it appears you will share a fate no different, and truthfully captain..." He moved closer to Steve again and dropped the vial into the puddle. "I'm going to enjoy watching good people endure death because of your mistake of letting my live."

"You are going to tell me..." Steve's voice spiked in a pitch of hostility. He straightened to his full stature, his wrist secured under the straps of the shield. His skeptical heart beating with wavering shakiness. A flimsy line of blood streamed over his solid jaw, and his light eyes glimmered as he frowned at the mage provoking him with the vial of the blood removed from somebody near to him. He gazed blankly at the vial, the hold of his jaw affirmed his desperation."Who's blood is in the vial?"

"An old woman who wants to have a dance with you, Captain..."

Peggy.

_The world was a blaze of light and shadow. Divisions were interfering with them as the weight of tribute heaped over his heart. Everything became dim in those snippets of feeling her profound and rich cocoa eyes gazing toward him with a promise. It was danger of grabbing the strength to delight something unadulterated and solid that they clutched amid the murkiness of times of battle. He took a gander at her, surrendering himself to her with the earnest sparkle welled in his blue eyes. Time was selling out around them. Steve expected to advise her reality that she was more than only a fire in the sentiment circle of Captain America, she was his best young lady. ..His compass and quality. No lady would ever measure up to her...His Peggy Carter._

_Lights reflected over his graphite helmet, as Steve simply gazed down at her beautiful face, and he viewed her chocolate locks whipping noticeable all around as the rate of the auto was quickening with the same mood of his pulse. At that point, she inclined in closer, her hands gripped his midsection. She made the first move. Her red lips collided with his, and he completely offered himself to her, inclination all the blaze and ice consolidate as they both were giving up and discharging all questions and apprehensions. He shut his eyes, and permitted himself to appreciate this last minute with her. He felt stronger than he'd ever felt in the recent past._

_The weight of her delicate lips against his yielding mouth was hard and unrelenting, the wet warmth of their kiss touched off new saves of quality as he felt her fingers spreading unexpectedly firm over his midsection. His nose pressed against her nose as he kissed her absolutely breathless...He would not like to withdraw from her, he felt his whole body longing to admit his affection to her. He couldn't inhale against the inclination of her beauty collapsing over his lips, and when he pulled away, so abate and hesitant, he realized that she would dependably convey him inside her heart._

_Gasping for breath, Steve lifted his head up, shadowing over her as he looked down into her dim eyes and listened to her words. "Go and give them one for me."_

_He gazed back at runaway, a bit indeterminate at to begin with, however then his eyes settled on her, and his lips secured into a grin. She was his shield of bravery, trust and mortal direction. She was his backing. He felt the strength to ascend and face of the storm."Always do what Peggy says..."_

Steve's eyes widened and he involuntarily stretched out his hand towards the vile. Cromwell withdrew the flask, shaking his head and letting a crooked smile cross his wretched face. "Not so fast, Captain Rogers."

"What is it you want?" Steve demanded, his voice unrelenting, while he took a threatening step forward, his shield raised defensively as if it could ward off lies as well as it could bullets. "Don't you know it's never been my policy to negotiate?"

A glimmer of vexation crossed the mage's darkened features. He had been desiring to hear the Captain ever-so-stupidly argue for his opportunity in a disgraceful show of benevolence that was appropriate for an upright saint. But the Brooklyn kid decided to deny him even that. He did to cut deeper into the heart. "I think with once you know the truth about this blood in my hand it will change your mind."

He glanced down at the shield, his focal point was the five pointed star in the middle. Frustrated and blistering with vengeance, he took a brazen up forward and swayed the vial in front of Steve's harden face, waiting for the super- soldier to make an effort to push him down as he spat out a few words. "Inside this vial is the blood of Peggy Carter." Steve funneled what still remain of his calm exterior. "All it takes is one drop of blood to change nobility into vulnerability...If you want to save everyone you love including Barnes a certain deal to be made...Unless you rather them suffer for your mistakes..."

"What's the deal?" Steve dared to ask, his fingers gripping the shield tightly. His life and his freedom were both very high costs, but his friends were worth more, and if he had to lose everything for them, he would. Besides, he could not truly lose all that he had; hope would never leave him. "You take my life, do what you will to me, and spare them?"

"I have no intention of taking your life, Captain Rogers." Cromwell spat with a baneful tone, scowling at Steve with a vulgar look while his frail hand leveled with the shield. "I am going to take something of value from you..."

Steve felt his heart collapsing in his chest as he glanced at the cracks forming in the alloy of his shield.

* * *

A/N: A big thank-you to my co-writer and readers.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

* * *

Orange juice. That was all Sam Wilson could think about as he leaned against the counter top, gathering up heavy intakes of breath. It felt like he had just ran a marathon around Lincoln Memorial. His lungs were burning and blood sloshing through his veins. He had been enduring a new daily routine of training, pushing his limits with discipline methods of intense conditioning since the events of Project Insight. His body mass an evolved into hardened muscle gleaming with victorious sweat. He was on the brink of becoming something momentous. On the level of reaching a point of peak human conditioning, all the while becoming deeply committed into helping his new friend with his inner struggles of guilt and failure.

It was burden that all soldiers carried they returned home after their tours of duty that had involved running through hailing bullets of enemy fire, watching friends and brothers fall to the defeat of death.

Sam had lost Riley because he believed that his wing-man always made in through, but his emotions deceived him. All it took to make him keep both eyes open as a counter attack in the sky and the images of broken wings falling into pieces. When the smoke finally cleared, he saw what sacrifice and bravery meant. He saw what Riley carried in those final moments when liquid pumped into his veins. It was a wake up for him to carry on the fight and made a pledge to always watch his wing man's back. That's what the Falcon did when his wings caught the sun and his sharpened eyes were always locked on his prey and fellow soldiers. He saved many lives while allowing Riley's death to drive his need to save and protect grew deeper.

After returning to Washington, he formed a bond with Captain Steven Rogers, the living legend—at first it was a dream come true, but after seeing the threads of humanity become unraveled by lies and hellish attacks to destroy the name of liberty and peace, he knew it was was price that they all had to pay. A price of freedom.

He saw how HYDRA took take a good man—a brother and soldier and transform him into a monster. The Winter Soldier was a ravage beast of aggression and efficient precision. He was a cold-blooded killer. In someways, the ruthless hybrid of machine and humanity was the dark and shattered reflection of Captain America. (Red Star vs White Star) it was the colors that became ingrained in his mind. The symbols of death and liberty. He had entered another war. A war of freedom. Now, Sam felt like he was living on the edge of fighting structures of discipline and emotion. He practically on the front lines of a fallout battle, putting his trust and hope into a good friend who carried more than a shield.

It troubled him. He hadn't spoken to Steve after spending three weeks in Omsk, Russia searching for HYDRA safe houses written on the Soviet file Natasha had given to Steve that day went Nick Fury departed from American borders. The contents of the file included a written journal from Doctor Armin Zola, images of Barnes during his cryo stasis , and signed documents of military classified contracts of weaponry and subornation programs authorized by a KBG scientist Major General Vasily Karpov Head of Special Section: Department X.

All the papers that were documented in 1945 had scribbling with a name written across the fine print. Advanced Robotic Appendages and Attachment-The Winter Soldier Project.

It was the horror shop where Barnes had been subjected into mental implantation and sensory deprivation that reprogrammed his mind into alternate weapon with the purpose of becoming the world's most deadly, elusive and damaged assassin- codename: The Winter Soldier. _The Fist of HYDRA._

Somehow, Sam had felt relived to receive Steve's call from a payphone. He couldn't suppress the growing sense of dread that weaved through his emotions. He had tried reaching Natasha through various contacts he had obtain by Sharon Carter. There was a missing piece of the warped puzzle. HYDRA always has an hidden agenda. For some reason, Steve didn't carry that unbreakable defiance in his voice, instead the baritone sounded detached and uncertain. In other words, he didn't sound like Captain America or Steve Rogers.

A stoic expression washed over his face. He felt fundamentally displaced. His regrets didn't avail. Steve needed his help. Captain America was calling him back to the battlefield whether it was in the sky or ground level. The Falcon would be there to watch his back. Sam Wilson would be there to guide Steve out the storms he faced. A friendship was a mission of burden.

Sighing, he opened the fridge door. His hand reached for the jug of orange juice. He needed to quench his thirst. He twisted the cap off and tilted his head back, allowing the cool relief of citrus wash down his heated throat. And then, he leaned his muscled frame slanted against the counter as his brown eyes spared a glance at the Soviet file. The twisted perversions and crimes of HYDRA etched in flesh and metal of wounded soldier. James Barnes. "What is the missing piece?" he whispered, taking another gulp before setting the jug down.

He flipped through the documents, and stared wistfully at photographs of a ghost. His eyes hardened as he traced his finger over a hidden slit, and took out another picture. Only this time, it was of a young woman with long hair and a man that resembled Barnes. It had faded with wear. The woman was stunning and beautiful. Both of them were dressed in leather and standing outside somewhere in Russia. Sam couldn't take his eyes away from beauty captured in the tainted shadows -she looked dangerous and alluring. He flipped the picture and scanned his gaze over words written in red: _Winter Soldier and Agent Crimson spend an evening in Moscow nightclub among objective unsuspected. Two sniper bullets are found in target's heads the morning after. The mission was successful. The experiment has worked. Subject Winter Soldier has shown a breakthrough of having attached emotions towards Agent Crimson. They are equal weapons that will give HYDRA the clearance to activate Project: _изоморфные (Morphous)

Sam furrowed his eyebrows, "Agent Crimson?" he murmured skeptically; holding the picture to the light. "What's the connection?"

*Knock*

Steve found that knocking had taken far more effort than he would have ever thought necessary for so small an action. It felt like all of his limbs had tripled in weight; his whole body sagged as with exhaustion. He still carried his shield, but it had dragged on the ground when he ceased to be able to hold it higher, and now that he looked at it, he saw that the leather was torn and the paint was fading. How had that happened so fast?

Steve felt no better than his shield looked. After his strange, dream-like encounter with the druid, his strength had been draining steadily. The last ten minutes of his walk towards the rendezvous had been torturous, with pain flaring up randomly in both his body and soul. It seemed like he was being attacked on all fronts, most probably by the curse, and he was surprised that he had made it to Sam's house at all. Now, lifting his eyelids and panting, he prayed that Sam was here and able to answer the knock before Steve collapsed on the doorstep.

The door slid open in the instant Steve coughed up blood. Sam leaned against the steel frame, his dark eyes settled onto the wounded captain with grave concern. He wasn't excepting his friend to look haggard, battered and weakened. His heart plummeted down into his stomach as he noticed a thin line of blood dripping from Steve's split lip. "Hey, man. Are you okay?" he addressed with abashed expression. His eyes didn't leave Steve's bruised face during that long moment between them. Steve lurched forward, his pale blue eyes watered with anguish. His blonde hair was ashen by streaks of dirt. He stared. "What happened?" He blinked, his steady gaze narrowed to the cracked shield clutched in Steve's arm.

"What hasn't?" Steve said in a very raspy voice as he fell into a chair at the nearby kitchen table. He let the shield, which felt like a load of bricks, fall from his grasp and slide to the floor, the dull clang resounding in his ears. Everywhere that the chair touched his body burned with pain. Sam's concerned face made Steve wonder how bad he looked. How much of his encounter with the mage had been a dream?

"I've been having a little HYDRA trouble," Steve explained when he had regained some of his breath. "Turns out that spells, or at least magic curses, aren't just found in stories."

"Wait, hold on a sec," Sam quickly went to the cupboard, grabbed a glass and pour juice inside. He had to remain calm. He had to become straight forward, Steve was vulnerable and from the looks of ashy blemished on his pale face-weakening. "You're telling the truth about magic spells and hocus pocus stuff? And you're not suffering from delusions because your blood sugar is low? Because if you're really being honest with me with this, Steve. I want to know everything that happened to you before I received your phone call." He drew out a deep breath handing the glass to Steve. "I mean it, Cap. The truth, the whole and nothing but the truth."

"Do you really expect anything else from me?" Steve asked, a smile pulling at his lips. This quickly vanished as his face twisted in agony. Pain was flaring up in his chest and running through his veins like boiling acid; he wondered if he could carry on a conversation for very long.

"It's not delusions. At least...the parts that were physical were not delusions. I have also had some dreams that were real but not physical. It's hard to explain, and I don't understand it myself, but I'll do my best."

Sam instantly crouched down in front of Steve, lifting the glass and placing it into the captains's large and clammy hand. His skin felt cold."Take a few sips of juice, and then breathe." he instructed unconvinced that his friend had been subjected to the unrealistic terms of magic. A spike of worry cleaved in his chest. His voice reached an edge of concern. "Just breathe, Steve."

Steve cooperated, and the juice helped a little. He set the cool glass onto the table just as an idea appeared in his mind. There was one sure-fire way to make Sam both believe him and understand what the situation truly was. Although it was insane and possibly harmful, Steve was tired of fighting and unsure if words would really do the situation much justice, so he let his idea come to life.

Without warning his companion, Steve allowed all the walls he had built up in his mind against the curse to collapse.

The effects were immediate as his body surrendered to the transformation of the husky, and though the pain was terrible, it was not much worse than what he had been enduring for the last several hours.

Groaning, Steve slid out of the chair and ended up on all fours on the floor. Heaving out strained breaths, his eyes fixed on the golden fur growing out of his skin. His gut clenched with fear that maybe that was a mistake. He was already weaken, how could he possible survive another transformation from human to dog without feeling his insides explode? Bowing his head to not look into Sam's eyes, he pressed his lips into a tight grimace. "Sam," he whispered, his eyes landed on the shield where the beam of sunlight touched the center star. "Don't panic...I want to show you what has happened to me."

Steve kept his light blue eyes locked on Sam, fur quickly covered his body, his face held all the anguish. The reaction was instantaneous. His heartbeat sped up as though it were soaring through an actual race. His tight muscles grew tighter and his bones began to shift and restructure themselves. His mass shrunk and his skin changed into fur. His jaw bone stretched and his nose with it. He was no stranger to the transformation however unlike the pain he'd experience beforehand, his body had now grown to accept and embrace it. Screams no longer carried despite the groans of discomfort; what obscured them was the crackling of bones and the shifting of mass.

A small dog whimper escaped his lips, but for the most part he was silent as the magic did its work. Fortunately, the process only took a few seconds, and when the transformation was complete. It wasn't long before a fully grown husky stood underneath the table with a pelt that resembled Steve's hair color. The strong and powerful dog wobbled faintly and glanced around curiously to take in his surroundings. His icy eyes landed on Sam and waited for his friend to react.

Steve looked up at Sam to see how his friend would react.

Sam froze in a heartbeat. His brown eyes widened in shock. The world titled as his footing became unbalanced.

Staring down at the light furred husky made a unsettling knot of dread form in his stomach. It wasn't real. How could a 240 pound super-soldier transform into a drooling dog? "Steve," he gasped, words failed as he chanced another befuddled glance at the dog wearing Captain America's dark blue stealth uniform. His fingers slid over his goatee as his brown eyes were focus on the animal panting with his tongue sticking out with those familiar piecing blue eyes. The flames of relentless strength.

The gaze of Captain America.

There was no way...No way that Steve was involved with magic. It wasn't impossible. Trying to convince himself, Sam lost his balance, nearly toppling to the floor, however his hand gripped the ledge of the counter and he forced his weight up against the fridge. "Dude, it looks like you've been through a lot," He commented, concern and bewilderment crossing his dark features. He took a deep and forceful breath. His heart twisted in pain. "How did this happen to you?"

Steve, despite his heavy exhaustion, began fighting the curse in his mind again. It seemed harder to defeat this time than it had in the past, and he worried for a moment that he was too weak, but finally he noticed that he was changing back into a human. His uniform slowly closed in against his newly formed human limbs, and after almost a minute of intense pain, he was himself again. He let out a groan and climbed back into his chair, looking at Sam and panting as he tried to regain his breath.

"It's a long story," Steve answered in rasp.

After a few minutes of listening to the details, Sam pulled out a chair and settled down next to Steve. "The way you explained everything about this strange curse, its seems like HYDRA has more secrets than SHIELD knew about, Cap." He released a shaky exhale, his folded hands rested on the table.

A heaviness piled on his chest and his brown eyes leveled down at the damaged shield. Doubt and turmoil fled through his mind as he searched beyond the painful sting into the blue eyes of the super-soldier. He couldn't allow Steve to carry this struggle and mission alone. "Steve," his voice grew softer, however, the strength in his words could not be mistaken. "I can't tell you if there's a way out of this for you, but I can help you in any possible way that I can." He could see fear and sorrow in Steve's eyes that made him realize there was another factor at work here.

"Where is this modern day hocus pocus freak?" He whispered quietly. "You mention that some Baron is in charge?" He looked down at the shield.

"Strucker," Steve answered, his voice still hindered by his torn throat. He coughed a couple times and then clarified. "Baron Wolfgang von Strucker, I think. He's got some sort of lair here in the city, in a house basement." Steve swallowed hard. "I know where it is."

"Okay...You get some rest...I will get a few things together, I want you sleep for at least two hours, Cap," Sam affirmed him in a vaguely concern voice, his features expressing a semblance of unease.

Steve would have objected, but he knew that his friend was right. Besides, he wasn't sure he could stay sitting up much longer anyway; he desperately needed rest. He nodded to Sam's suggestion and carefully rose from the chair, headed the seemingly long distance between the kitchen table and the couch. When he finally reached his destination, limbs burning and eyes threatening to close on their own accord, he turned to face Sam one more time.

"Don't you dare let me sleep too long," he said, his serious tone failing to cover a small smile. "No matter how good rest will do for me, it won't matter if we can't fix this problem soon."

When Sam mustered enough strength he walked closer to the couch, and crouched down at Steve's side. His hand gripped the super-soldier's wrist with a squeeze of reassurance. He sighed momentarily taking a few seconds to compose himself, despite feeling of the lacerating pain cutting deep inside him. Then, he looked into Steve's aqueous blue eyes and said, "Cap, you know that you're not alone in this fight. Whatever course of action you choose, I will follow..."

"Thanks, Sam," Steve said with a grin before drifting into a deep sleep.

"No problem, Cap." Sam returned, his doleful brown eyes looked down at the soldier. "Whatever you need, Steve. Just ask. My place is your home until the heat dies down. HYDRA will have a tough track you here. Just don't go changing into a dog without my knowing, okay?" He felt a brush of a smile grace over his features. "You have good rest." He patted his hand lightly over Steve's broad shoulder. "You deserve it."

"Sam— "

"Nope, I'm not going to listen to you order me around, Captain America." He straightened to his full height, crossing his arms over his drenched shirt. "You're under my roof and you follow my rules. Get some rest, and I'll go make you a big breakfast."

"I can't stay here, Sam," Steve released a despondent sigh. "I'm not risk putting your life in danger. You're a good friend and soldier. It will be selfish of me..."

"Captain America needs my help," Sam said in a serious tone. "Look, I know that you think you can fight these guys alone, but look at happened when you faced with the Winter Soldier back in the Tri-carrier." Steve meet his gaze with hazy blue eyes. "My point is, Steve, you don't have to carry this mission alone. I know the risks and I will do all that is in my power to free you from this curse and get you back into fighting form."

Steve felt a frown brush over his paling features. His burning eyes gleamed like ice as a hint of light reflected over him. "There is someone I want to visit, in case I fully become lost." He whispered softly, not having the strength nor the desire to put on a charade of indifference. There was no point of lying to Sam or himself. He didn't know how much time he had left before the enchantment devoured his mortality, however, he knew that he couldn't leave without saying goodbye to his best girl.

He had to spend one more moment with Peggy...

He settled his glistening eyes on shield. "I need to see Peggy and tell her..."

Sam nodded, understanding his friend's heart. "Okay, I'll make a few calls and arrange a visit for you at the nursing home."

Steve suddenly started as his mind came to consciousness. He tried to sit up, but he realized he was already standing. The air about him was hazy and filled with clouds. He closed his eyes and opened them over and over as he tried to clear away the mist, but it did no good. He stretched out his hand, and the clouds receded a bit, but still they pressed in at him from all around. Desperate to understand what was going on, Steve called out, but only silence answered him.

* * *

A/N: I want to thank my wonderful and imaginative co-writer for bringing Steve's emotions to life in this chapter. I also want to thank JuliaAurelia for following this story and helping me improve the chapters. The next chapter will consist of some emotional moments with Steve and Peggy as well as Bucky. Enjoy and thank you.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

* * *

His life had taken an unexpected turn.

Steve couldn't fathom that his best friend had been unmade into HYDRA's secret weapon. He felt betrayed. Fury kept him left in the dark about the Soviet ghost files containing information on the Winter Soldier. Everything he stood for- bravery and truth was being swallowed by the shadows deception. Captain America was becoming a dying legend. Though he saved innocent lives and used himself as shield to protect people from harm, he felt used.

The world's greatest soldier, the Sentinel of Liberty was falling into an abyss of his own mistakes and regrets. He had once fought for valor, freedom and hope. He sacrificed so much to ensure the safety of his country and the world to never face the darkness alone. Blood, sweat and tears. That was his contribute for the price of freedom.

In the end, he was the one who had lost the war-Bucky was haunting dream that kept relaying in his mind. Natasha was a glimpse of stability for a life without the uniform and Sam was his conscience that helped him overcome the struggles that weakened him.

Peggy was his heart...His way back into a life where darkness never fell.

He sat by her bedside. He had been there for almost a full hour. At first, it was difficult to push himself to visit her. Peggy was his lifeline. She'd always had been during the thick of battle. In a way, she was in his calm against the rages of storms he had faced as Captain America. He loved her. And never did a day go by, where he had wished for a chance to tell her. After the events of Project: Insight. He felt... different. His mind wasn't focused on preparing for the next mission. He had reached a standstill—a dead pass on the road of choices.

He had been reading some of the books Sam recommended for him. He was slouched in the chair, his dark blue jacket unzipped, revealing a plain white shirt. The text blotted on the pages as he rested the book on denim of his faded jeans as he couldn't focus. His hand reached over the wrinkled blankets and lightly gripped her frail wrists and brought soothing heat over her wrinkled skin.

"Did I make the right choice, Peggy?" he asked in a low voice, sparing a glance at the photos of her children. Every time he stared at the pictures of Peggy smiling with her arms wrapped around her son and daughter, he felt a sting of guilt enter his heart. A tiny part of him wanted to go back into time and spend a life with her. Maybe they could have lived near a lighthouse, their backyard the ocean and he could have danced with her every sunset. "I wanted to dance with you and to never let you go...I guess I lost you when the plane went down."

"Steve," Peggy nearly choked on a wheezing breath. The strain of her lungs was audible. Her frail hand caressed over his rough knuckles, but her dark brown eyes were bright with an everlasting promise. Her gaze wasn't focused on him; he was an illusion to her. "You came back and that is all that matters..." She coughed, a tears rolled down her cheeks. The pain was becoming too much for her. "You cannot blame yourself for the choice you made, Captain. You saved the world and gave me strength to finish my missions. In a way, you never left me, my darling."

He stared at her for a long moment. Eager to say his confession. "No, I never left you," he said softly, despite the churning unease of guilt devouring his stomach. He lifted her precious hand to his shaky lips and pressed a kiss over her knuckles. A tentative and confident smile crossed over the fullness of his lips. He couldn't let her see his pain. "Hey, I'm here now, Peg." He leaned closer against the inclined bed, not letting her hand slip away. His eyes flicked down, as he thought to himself, allowing his mistakes to condemn him. "You know I had a chance to read up on your SSR file from 1945. You never back down from the mission, even though there was a price that had to be paid."

She lightly smiled, her dulling eyes fixed on him. "I had a great run back in New York. Some of best men and agents I have ever had the honor working with in the office. Most of them thought I was a lunch maid that fetched them coffee and sandwiches. After trust became asset, they formed a great structure together with you always there to guide me back if I drifted further away from my pledge."

Steve grinned at her words, averting his eyes to the piles of books and letters on her dresser. His head dropped as he folded his hand his lap. "I read that Howard Stark made a few mistakes with his weapon contracts. Selling them to the Soviet army and making you take on the action in the line of fire. I also discovered that you saved his life on a radio when he was flying a toxin into the heart of the city." Steve smiled to himself, and his blue eyes stared down at her withered hand. "You saved a lot of lives for just being a coffee dame, Peggy."

"I couldn't guide you back home." She wheezed her voice full of regret and pain. She gazed elatedly at him; her brown eyes glistening with tears. He hadn't aged a day. His blonde hair was short and spiked that complimented his chiseled features. His alluring pale blue eyes still held that fiery determination and defiant spirit.

In a way, Steve had changed. He wasn't the same man she had loved for a lifetime. He had become distant and guarded with his emotions. She saw through his boyish charm. "You came back when the world needed a hero to lead us out of the dark." She slitted her old bejeweled eyes, searching in his blue ones. "I can see that you have lost your way back to Brooklyn...Something happened to you, Steve."

Steve felt like he had just taken a round of HYDRA bullets to the chest, piercing and making his bleed out all emotions; pouring out gallons his strength onto the floor; pouring out his guilt in a relentless stream. It hurt him to even think about Bucky, but he managed to hold his lips into a smile for her; knowing that he had to be strong for Peggy. He didn't want her to know the truth that dwelled in the haunting blue eyes of the Winter Soldier; no matter how much he wounded him inside.

"How do I get back to Brooklyn, Peggy?" he asked after swallowing his pain as best he could. "Things aren't black and white anymore, and people don't want someone to stand up for what is right. How can I choose between wrong and less wrong?"

"But people need someone who will stand up for what is right," Peggy answered, clenching Steve's hand tighter. "You have to remind them what is worth fighting for. And maybe you need to remind yourself, too."

Steve blinked as he considered that. What was his goal? Ever since HYDRA was first revealed to still be in existence, he had simply been trying to stop them, not thinking about his own ideals or what he stood for. His view of the battle had been negative. Perhaps to become worthy of the title Captain America once more, he need to focus on what he was fighting for, not what he needed to overcome. He fought for good, not just against evil. He fought for freedom, not just against tyranny. He fought for love, not just against hate.

He smiled tentatively at her. His gentle and fathomless blue eyes gleaming with warm tears, however confidence sliced through the obscuring regret as wave of peace enveloped over him. His long, dark eyelashes lowered against his face as looked at her withered hand, peering at the white line of where her wedding ring used to sit against the wrinkled skin. He sighed, trying to hold grace in his heart. "That's the problem; I just don't know what freedom is anymore, Peg. I thought I could move on from the past, but somehow it managed to find me again."

"Our past is our history, Steve," Peggy wheezed. "And our history defines us. It doesn't bind us down; it spurs us on. Steve, use who you are to become who you need to be."

Steve looked into Peggy's brown eyes and saw hope and determination, undimmed by years, still burning fiercely. He wished he could draw from that source; he wished she could be there to encourage him in his darkest times, but she was here, lying stuck in this hospital bed, just waiting for age to take its final toll. It was now more than ever that Steve needed Bucky, his friend and fellow soldier, at his side.

He was fighting against the silent lucidly. "I..." Steve begun. She gazed at him as he struggled against his regrets, looking down at the floor with disdain shrouding over his face and looking back up to her again; lips holding a gentle smile. "I've been fighting a never ending war; each time I closer to ending it another form obstruction whether danger or emotion manages to block my path." he admitted, sadly.

"You don't fight alone, Steve," Peggy replied. "Find your allies and don't be afraid to let them help you. Even Captain America is human, and perhaps that's what makes him so worthy of the people's respect. Steve, Captain America has never fought alone. He's not a one-man-show; he's a leader of men, often the companion of friends, too. Why try to change things now?"

His eyes stung with unshed tears. He took a deep miserable breath; trying to suppress the grieving noise rattling in his chest. Something inside of him stirred; he was still Captain America, a soldier of valor and trust—a symbol of freedom. He needed to prove to himself that he could be more if he refused not to surrender to those haunting images of the Winter Soldier—Bucky was standing on top of a vehicle wearing that menacing mask and aiming a gun at Natasha. It cut into him deep, twisting a shunt of ice into his heart when his thoughts brought him back to the moment he saw those familiar pale blue eyes hidden underneath long hair and darkness. There was no emotion, just a hallow glare of a machine.

"Something happened to me in these last few weeks, Peggy." Steve said in a soft voice, he did his utmost to hold back the tears. "I thought I could be strong enough to face the pain, but when I looked into the eyes of HYDRA's weapon I saw my own reflection." He swallowed his breaths remain even as he looked into her dimming eyes. The weight of remorse sank into his heart. "James Barnes is alive." He couldn't tear his eyes away from her wrinkled face. He had to tell her the truth, maybe there was a chance she knew more about Bucky's tortured past under the red shadow of Russia, "Zola woke him up from the ice when we grieved that long winter and accepted the choice Buck made the moment he'd let go..."

"James is alive?" Peggy asked in almost a strangled gasp. Her expression became dumbfounded and confused. "But Steve, that's impossible! It's been so long since he fell, and surely he could not have survived the injuries he would have sustained." Peggy searched Steve's expression, and although she could hardly believe what he said, she knew that he was not lying. Finally, she decided to accept what he said—_had not stranger things happened?_—and deal more directly with the problem. No wonder Steve was so troubled.

"Where is he, Steve? Where is James now?" she urged, her tone broken as her heart ached for Steve.

"It doesn't matter," Steve said and his lips held into a disdain curl. His blue eyes shifted to the old photograph of the Howling Commandos on her dresser.

Bucky was standing in the center next to Dum Dum Dugan and Gabe with his rifle slung over his shoulder and his bright confident smile was warm and brotherly.

A painful swell erupted in Steve's chest, but he refused to allow it to settle against the muscle. "James is lost to us, Peggy. I want to believe that I can find a way to bring him back." He was feeling sorry for Bucky and himself. He wanted to find peace beyond the strongholds of doubt. "I don't know if he would want to become the good soldier again."

"Steve," Peggy began, her voice softer and gentle, "if I knew anything about Sergeant Barnes, it's that he was as stubborn as a mule. No matter what HYDRA or anyone has done to him, I believe he can and will heal from it. Don't you trust that the man who was your friend and brother will not let HYDRA win, whether it's a battle of soldiers or a battle of the mind?"

Steve narrowed his eyes, absently. His own creeds had been tangled into a vow of silence. He felt stripped to the bone when he heard the effort of her words bring him back to the moment of allowing himself—the kid from Brooklyn and the super-soldier to fight against the internal struggle and surrender to the choice that could define the life he was now living.

"You're right, Peggy," he finally said, it was a rippling effect of his emotions. He knew there was no easy road to become taken; he had to walk the straight and narrow path of idealistic and fundamental truths of the other half of the world—he couldn't back down from this fight, not when Bucky depended on him to bring him back home. "I have to trust Bucky; I've trusted him all my life, so why would I stop there when he needs to have a friend to carry his struggles with him."

He snapped his gaze back up, his fingers stroking through the silver strands of her hair fanned across the pillowcase. "In my early years in Brooklyn, I used to fight because I wanted to prove to myself that there was no other way to win. After all my battles and loses, I finally know what I'm fighting for...If I turn my back on that now, Bucky will never see his victory."

He stared at her for a long time, searching for the unquenchable fire in her rich eyes. He knew she was ashamed of her withered body, but she still looked beautiful and despite his heart's pledge to carry on the good fight, he wanted to go back in time change the course of his actions; find a way to fix every mistake and the simmers of hesitation that kept him guarded from her. "I want you to know something, my best girl...» He hand slid gently over her frail and sagging jaw, and he looked sincerely into her eyes-her heart.

"I could have never become Captain America without you, Peggy." A tear slid down her face, and he wiped out the damp line of her pain with a tender brush his thumb, before He took out the silver compass, opening it for her to see that tarnished photograph of her younger-self. "You've always led me in the right direction..."

"I may have led you, Steve," Peggy said, squeezing Steve's hand tighter in her own and locking her gaze with his blue eyes, "but you were the one who was Captain America." She swallowed her emotion as best she could and kept her eyes fixed on Steve. "The world has changed, Steve, but its needs never will. You job isn't to become like it, but to stay the way you are. That's what America needs, that's what your Avengers need, and that's what Bucky needs. They don't need another government agent or soldier; they need a hero. Be the hero you were in our day, and I will always be with you."

Steve didn't say anything. He rose from the chair, leaned over and pressed his lips over her clammy forehead. His soft kiss unraveled warmth against her aging face and he closed his eyes, holding back his tears. His finger wove through her curls. "I owe you so much more than a dance, beautiful." He whispered, slowly pulling away from her. "I have to go, Peg, but I promise that next time I will share that dance with you."

"Steve," Peggy looked up at him. Her eyes damp with tears. She struggled to breathe. She felt helpless and indomitable at the same time. Her lips pressed tight and her shaky hand gripped his wrist. "Please don't leave me..."

"Peg," Steve tried his best to stifle his lips into an unfaltering smile. "No matter what happens after I walk out of this room, I will come back to you."

She nodded gently, and whispered as she felt her heart sigh. "I will be waiting, Captain."

* * *

Steve woke up with a severe headache. He groaned a little as his broad form lifted off the cushions. Spectrums of muted afternoon light streamed through the window and reflected over the silver embossed star on his uniform. A thick smell of heavily greases bacon sizzling in the fry pan made his empty stomach emitted a discontent rumble as entwining scent of, he sniffed...scrambled eggs melting in cheese teased his nostrils. He blinked his feverish blue eyes fully open and readjusted himself out of the dream. He swept his gaze across the room, and focused on the shield propped against chair across from his view. Cracks of rust were slowly eating away at the red paint and vibranium.

"How long was I out?" Steve asked aloud, rubbing his temples. The pain in his head was very acute, and he wondered if normal ibuprofen would have any effect on him. It was hard to think straight when his skull was nearly ringing with aches. Why was his shield deteriorating that way? Steve felt both physical pain in his head and psychological pain in his soul to see the white star, representing freedom, appearing so defeated.

"Three hours," Sam replied as he leaned against the wooden molding. His arms crossed over his solid chest. His dark eyes rove over the beads of sweat that clung to Steve's forehead. Concern for his friend didn't recede. "I made a few calls and managed to contact Sharon. All arrangements have been made for you to spend a few hours with your-Peggy Carter." He settled his pensive gaze onto the fracturing shield. "I think we should change your look up a bit, if Captain America is once again a wanted fugitive by HYDRA...we need you to go undercover. I have a few baseball caps; mind you I don't have anything with the Brooklyn Dodgers..."

Steve chuckled. "Well, Tony tells me that they've moved to Los Angeles since my day. I guess I need to find another team." He turned his gaze back to his shield and decided to ask the question that was eating up his mind as quickly as the rust was eating up the vibranium. "What do you think is going on with the shield?"

"Well, there's a possibly that some form of hydrofluoric acid was sprayed onto the shield during your alleyway brawl with the magic dude." He eased his back off the frame, and moved closer to the chair. His index finger slid over the cracks that were engaged in the center of the star. He stole a glance at Steve, underneath those iron layers of the soldier; Steve looked ambivalent.

The trash can lid was a piece of him-an element of protection he used to save lives from hails of bullets, energy blasts and fire bombing. Without his shield, Captain America would look just like another soldier-it was a symbol of strength and a promise of freedom. Still, it felt weird for Sam to conceive the truth. He analyzed the details—reached another dead end. Once again there was another missing piece of the puzzle. "I'm no chemist, but I do know that there are acids in this world that can eat away metal. You should have Stark run some tests before it reaches rapid corrosion."

"Stark," Steve mumbled aloud as he weighed his options. Should be bring the other Avengers into this? Considering what HYDRA had already done to him, it didn't seem wise to give him access to the only defense system the world had. Still, it would be so nice to have more friends by his side. But he had Sam, and that was more than good enough.

"I don't want to bring the Avengers in on this," Steve announced in a hoarse whisper; it felt like a punch in the gut as his gaze drifted over the shield. This was unfathomable. He needed answers. If he failed to complete his task Bucky would never become restored. He grieved for his friend once, and he made a promise that would never allow HYDRA to win. _Never surrender._ "...but if you think the shield needs immediate attention, I can send it over Tony before we do anything else. He doesn't have to know what happened to it right away."

Sam crouched down at his side, placing his hand over Steve's tensed shoulder. The captain looked so lost and distant. Harden with penitence. He wasn't used to seeing his friend anything less than brave and stubborn. Whatever, HYDRA planned for his fate, Steve whether human or dog had to fight. Sam pulled his lips into a confident smile and stared directly into soldier's gaze. "You've never given up all these seventy years. You pushed onward. Yeah, you sometimes look like a stray dog, but you're Captain America. You can fight the impossible when others can't...» He gestured a hand to the shield. "Your shield doesn't make you the hero that people like me believe in, Steve...It's a just a piece of metal. You are the symbol."

Steve smiled, encouraged by his friend's words. "Well, let's hope I don't start rusting, too. If I am a symbol, then I've had better days. Do you have any ibuprofen I could take?"

"I do." Sam grinned faintly, easing himself onto his feet. His disquieted eyes settled on the blemished skin underneath Steve's broad jaw. A bruising imprint of a hand. He had begun to feel the reduced doubt building in his veins again. His breath evened out slowly and he blinked and peeled his gaze away from the soldier. "I will give you a few after you're finished eating this big breakfast I prepared for you. I hope you're hungry, Cap?"

Steve noticed Sam's expression, and he wondered how bad he seemed if his friend was so concerned for him. Hopefully he didn't look worse than he felt; if so, he must appear like a monster. To ease Sam's mind a bit, Steve tried to be as cheerful as he could.

"Hungry?" Steve groaned, shaking his head. "I'm starving. Now how about some of that good-smelling bacon?"

Torrents of relief surged him for a few moments. He looked down at Steve lifting his bulky form off the cushions. "I wasn't sure if you liked bacon and eggs. It's a traditional American breakfast...I do have protein bars. I got a box stashed in my cupboard if you want that instead?""

"I am a pretty traditional guy," Steve said hinting a smile, "...and who doesn't like bacon?"

Steve rounded the couch and took a seat at the kitchen table. The smell of the wonderful food seemed to take away a bit of his headache, but his temples still throbbed painfully. He hoped this was only a result of all that had happened to him, not part of the curse. He would need himself to be in prime condition, both in body and mind, in the coming days, he knew. There was a lot for him to do.

He slid the strips of crispy and fattening bacon on a plate next to the golden fluffy mound of eggs. Layering of cheese dripped down a slope. Sam listened to Steve's stomach rumbled with discontentment. He swaggered to the table, placing a jug of orange in front of disheveled captain. "So after you're finished, we'll find you a change of clothes and then see Peggy Carter at the nursing home."

He caught a glimpse of a disarming look into Steve's heavy blue eyes as set the plate down. He drew out a heavy sigh, "I know you still have feelings for her, man...I think a part of you wants to go back. A soldier has dreams when he comes home, and most of them involve sharing a life with a woman like Peggy." He pulled out a down and sat down. "Is that what makes you happy...Her?"

Steve released a bit of a chuckle as he swallowed a big bite of eggs."Yeah, I guess so. She's...she's just not like anyone else I know. Even being in the same room with her makes me feel better." He found that a wide grin was spread across his face, but then his expression was shadowed by grief, and he looked back at his plate. There was a rending pulsate in his chest. He was driving himself back into the icy abyss. "Seeing her so old and frail hurts more than any other change I've had to get used to."

"You know growing up in Harlem and being a minster's son was a tough way to live." Sam replied genuinely watching Steve's blue eyes glisten with moisture. After inevitably feeling the dullness of his own guilt, he spoke in a low and yet somber cadence. At least he had someone to confine with, other than just letting remain bottled up inside.

"After my father was killed by the very same people he tried to save from a switch blade gang; I always tried my best to do what felt right. I'll admit it was hard to live without his hand on my shoulder. I made mistakes and went down the wrong path during my high school years. I thought I had nothing left, my mom was killed by a mugger and my circle of friends kept getting smaller...After seeing the darkness in some young kids hearts, I made a choice and carried my father's legacy by helping people with their problems." He paused in faint reverence and reflected on his past. "I sometimes go back where I first started, it's my home and I can't forget that there is good left in this world, it may be a small number...It's all I need to know that I'm fighting for something. That's what makes me happy."

Steve grinned at his friend, and after taking a swig of orange juice and swallowing his own emotion with it, he cleared his throat. "Sounds like your happiness is pretty productive. You should take me with you sometime; maybe it would make me happy, too. Stark is always bugging me about finding hobbies besides "napping in icebergs", and it would be nice to help people in ways other than punching bad guys."

"It's not Brooklyn," Sam joked, taking a sip of juice, but his tone grew a tad bit more serious. "I spend most of my time in basement of an old church where my dad used to preach. A lot people have made it a place of refuge. Sometimes I like give up a bit hope, because heaven knows they need every day." His eyes lowered at Steve's empty plate. He sighed. "Whatever is happening to you, Steve, it's not going to stop you from fighting." Steve lifted his softened gaze to him. "We'll find way...Storms don't last."

"Too bad my umbrella isn't in too good of shape," Steve said in a blasé tone, glancing back at his shield. "I guess I will just have to get wet."

Sam inhaled sharply, listening to the captain's wistful tone. His expression instantly went stoic and vague. His dismal eyes downcast at the empty juice glass. He nodded mutely, feeling a sudden wave of tension that had withdrawn him from emotion and then resettled a momentarily gaze at the soldier's rough knuckles. He felt the muscles in his chest twitch against a nagging ache.

He wasn't ready to watch his friend suffer under HYDRA's shadow, and he had a right to become concerned about the outcomes of Steve's choices in the next forty-eight hours. There wasn't much time.

Sam sighed for a long moment, allowing the silence to linger between them, until his voice questioned the disheartening question. "So, what happens if you can't save yourself from this HYDRA curse, do you fully change into that dog again and lose everything that makes you human?"

Steve's expression sobered and he let out a slow, wavering sigh of his own. "I don't know for sure, but I think you're right. At least, when I was a dog at first, it felt like my humanity was deteriorating. It's almost as if HYDRA has a way of disintegrating a person's soul, though philosophically I know that's impossible. I guess they're killing your spirit—your being—in a new way. Rather than your soul fleeing your body at once, like usually happens at death, it departs much more slowly. I don't know if you can get it back once it's gone; this topic is just too hazy for me to fully understand. I honestly know nothing for certain."

"There is no common ground between evil and good." Sam replied with a hint of weariness in his voice. He stretched out his hand to Steve's shoulder, brotherly. He felt unreasonably comfortable doing that gesture. "I do know that sometimes are certain, Cap." His voice locked in his chest, the grief was almost intolerable for him to fight against. They shared an understanding look. "You will beat this," He kept his tone firm and eyes determined as he looked into Steve's steadily blue ones. «I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but you will have victory when this war ends."

Steve felt the warmth of Sam's hand spread all over him, and he genuinely grinned. "Thanks, Sam. And you're right; HYDRA can't win, not ultimately. I know a lot of people today think that good and evil are two equals, fighting for dominion. But they're wrong. Good does not and cannot fall to evil; it is, by nature, triumphant. If I stand with what is good, then I will win even if I personally lose. That's what I always told myself in the War at least. You can never know if you're going to live to see another day, but if you fight for what is right, your cause is guaranteed to prevail."

Listening to the heavy the measure of burden in his friend's voice, Sam held his gaze on the cross secured over Steve's bruised neck. He felt a sudden ignition of warmth enter him. Deep into his core. He knew that Steve was coping with this hapless situation, but with all doubt cast aside, he managed to pull his lips into a faint smile of assurance. It wouldn't change anything if the super-soldier became a dog, Steve Rogers would always be Captain America through his spirit and soul. "I want you to know that matter what happens after we walk out of this house; you will always be my friend and hero." He said, holding a level of confidence in his voice.

"Thank you, Sam," Steve said, nodding his head modestly. "That means a lot to me."

"Not mention it, Cap," Sam said, his dark eyes drifted back to the shield. He didn't say anything. His lips curled into a hearten smile.

Steve finished his strip of bacon, and rested his hand firmly on Sam's shoulder. "I consider you one my good friends, Sam." He spoke with grateful cadence in his voice. "I couldn't have stopped HYDRA without you as my wing man... On my left." He dropped his light eyes and reflected on his memories of Bucky—the one friend who always had his back in the alleys of Brooklyn and on the battlefield.

_He grimaced as blood dripped over his chin, sniffling, he wiped his sleeve underneath his nose. The pain refused to subside in his jaw. A bruise was starting to eat away at the paleness of his cheek. He was ashamed that he couldn't defend himself against the brute. The trash can lid served as his shield for the beginning of the brawl; he wasn't strong enough. A spastic wheeze broke from his slip lip as he tried to lift himself of the ground, but weakness in his muscles increased and he remain laden in the pile of trash._

_"You really ought to stay out of these places, Stevie," The blonde haired boy paused in a heartbeat. His teary blue eyes searched for the source of the voice that forced him out of his musing, and he looked to the shadows. Sliding his wrist under his nose, Steve tried to stop the blood from emerging out of his nostrils. He turned his gaze to the corner fence and found Bucky leaning up against the wood with the same cocksure smile spread over his broad and boyish features. Regardless of the swelling of his jaw, Steve managed to hold a lopsided smirk_

_After releasing out a frustrated sigh, Bucky causally walked over to the heap of trash, his ice blue eyes leveled at the drops of blood. He was used to seeing red pour out of his little friend after a fight._

_It was a common thing with Steven Rogers._

_"Grhh...What happened this time, punk?" he scoffed, with a brush of concern intermixed with his amiable Brooklyn accent. He knew that the "little guy" was too stubborn to admit his pain. Another common thing between them. His blue eyes swept over the purple tinged bruises and smears of blood. Regardless, he pressed on, trying to get the truth out of his friend. "Come on, Stevie, tell me what happened?" He urged and his slacken brow scrunched with discontentment._

_"Some bully was picking on a little kid," Steve answered with a sigh of disgruntlement. "It didn't seem right to watch it happen."_

_Steve tried to stand up, pushing himself off the pile of refuse, but his feet slipped on a trash bag and he slid back into the same position he'd started in. He was so tired to being small, so tired of being powerless. If felt like every day he was nursing some new injury or illness, and his weaknesses were taking their toll, especially on his own morale._

_"Steve," Bucky sighed, long and deep. His face fell and his lips pressed into a discouraged frown. It was disheartening to watch his friend struggle to survive with his illnesses and grief. He was Steve's big brother, the guy who always had his back no matter what they faced in alleyway, junkyards and both sides of the tracks._

_Still, there was an aching sense of dependence and need as he looked soulfully into Steve's glistening blue pools. Bucky knew that he would be nothing without the little punk. Just a castoff of his father's shadow, going nowhere. He made a promise to Sarah Rogers, to always look after her son. A Barnes boy never breaks his word. "I told you many times not to get yourself involve in fight you can't win. Do you ever listen...No. You always have to pretend to be something you not, Steve. And if you got beaten up badly..." His voice cracked and his iron layers were melting. __"I don't know what I would...Uh...__Never mind."_

_"What?" Steve pressed, groaning and slowly repositioning his body so that he was sitting up atop of the filth and muck scattered under his scrawny form... "What would you do? Don't you see that I can't just stand by while some injustice happens? That would make me both a weakling and a coward. Isn't that why the world's got so many problems today? People don't stand up for what's right."_

_"I don't care about that, Steve." Bucky retorted. His chiseled face shadowed with a wrenched expression, his smile faded into a brief glimmer of despondence. There was an edge rising in his voice. He clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to shed tears. He watched the blood slope aimlessly down his friend's thinned and sickly face._

_"Look, I promise your Ma, that I would look after you as a friend...Not as dead weight to lug around on the streets." He breathed, rubbing his thumb gently on the deep gash on the side of Steve's jaw. He pondered and looked steadily into the other boy's hardened gaze. "I want you safe...Not making a mess with your blood all over Brooklyn."_

_Bucky's cool and defiant exterior thawed into something benevolent. His muscles tended. "I can't lose you, punk. We gotta look out for each other, yeah, I know it's a tough world and sometimes good people get hurt." He nudged a fist lightly into Steve's bony shoulder. "I know I'm not the best friend a kid like you could have, but I know you're something special...You may look small to those jerks... " _

_His blue eyes narrowed at the dented tin lid behind Steve. A faint smirk pulled over his lips. "...but when I see you holding that stupid trash can lid...You look-Um... Brave."_

_"Brave?" Steve repeated, shaking his head and giving a shallow laugh. He mirrored Bucky's pensive gaze. "That's not exactly the word I would use. More like stubborn, or maybe stupid, but you already used that one, I think. Or was that about my amazing weapon?" Steve held up the lid and took a dramatic pose, evoking a laugh from both himself and Bucky. "You never know," he said, cocking his head and turning the lid in his hands. "These may come into style someday."_

_Bucky shook his head, and slung his left arm over Steve's shoulders. "You never know, punk." His lips curled into a feeble grin, trying his best to give his friend hope. That's all he could give him. "You never know..."_

_"Well, then it's good to know you'll always be there," Steve replied with a contended sigh. "Thanks Buck."_

_Bucky lifted his chin, pulling Steve close and securing his arm over his lower back as support. "Yeah, well, don't mention it, punk." he replied, his throat wavered as he wore his suave exterior and walked him out of the alley to face the world ahead. He brushed off the scraps of potato peelings off Steve's coat. "Next time those jerks have you on the ropes... Just throw a trash lid at their heads." Steve looked at him with a weak smile. He flicked the pieces to the ground and they continued walking._

* * *

_A big thank you to my amazing co-writer and JuliaAurelia._


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

* * *

"Where exactly are you leading us?" Anna called out from behind. She nudged the slower of the kittens with her muzzle, urging her on. Clusters of ominous buildings, one on either side, had become domestic houses shrouded by muted sunlight. Traffic no longer blared dangerously on the street. Although, she still felt utterly ineffective and exhausted from the long journey, her fiery and defiant spirit flickered with a kindling flame of hope.

Still, Anna felt the abandonment -the absence of human touch embracing her into warmth and security. She had missed him...Missed hearing his strong heart beat while mesmerized by the sculpted details of his physique, eyes alit, tracing over the scars left from the abuse he had endured in the chamber. The feeling however, grew less potent as time stole her life away and she lived in shadows and desolate places; searching, in vain it seemed, for repentance against the devilish enchantment.

She had to protect these babies, despite the storms clashing within her. It was a lifetime of pain, survival and broken dreams. A lonely and desperate road that she had been forced to take, ever since the curse trapped her inside a vessel of a cat-a stray. Tiny breathes. She took a few intakes of the cold air and looked down at the two wobbling kittens meowing their protests to the long journey. "James," she called out with concern in her strained voice. "These little guys can't go too much further."

Bucky was ahead of them. He stalked cautiously towards a parked vehicle. Awareness of danger made his senses alert and blue eyes focused sharply on a vacant driveway. The blow of the cold November wind ticked the cat's back like a thread drawn across his cinder fur coat. It was unpleasant. He brought his slender form lower, into a pouncing stance, and felt the valves of his heart thump with a consistent beat. He was searching for their pursers-HYDRA operatives. His nose crinkled a little as he caught a wafting and familiar scent in the air. They were close on his position. He turned his head while fighting against the powerful urges to run. "You know I've never been good at having a sense of direction." He countered back in a roughened and coarse drawl. A cocky gleam managed to sparkle in his eyes.

Anna rolled her golden eyes and chuckled. "And is this good sense of direction what has kept us on our feet for hours?" She shot him a mischievous glance, feeling warmth fill her heart after too long without a joke or laugh.

"Not really," the former Soviet assassin drawled back coolly. He grunted as he lifted his body from the pavement, shaking off the flecks of snow that collected over his fur as he gained his balance. He lumbered a few steps closer and stared at her. "I'm not use to living like this, Anna." There was a brush of derision in his voice. "We were a lethal team back in Russia, but out here we're just lost."

"Well, I'm not so sure about that," Anna mused. "I felt lost while we were in Russia, too." It was true; all the time she had lived in the bonds of HYDRA, she had been their tool, not a person. She had never possessed any objectives of her own, nor any dreams or hopes. James had been her only star in a sea of dark night, and despite their condition, she was almost content just to be at his side with renewed purpose and meaning. Even if all their hopes proved to be in vain, at least they would fail fighting for something that was their own and worth the cost.

Every fiber in his slender body hardened and whirled into the pit of his stomach when heard the measure of grief in her voice. He froze momentarily, gathering his strong and defiant poise. He wore an unreadable semblance and slowly crept an inch closer to meet the amber orbs of the other cat. Bucky stared blankly at her. Despite the struggle of fighting the curse, his devotion for Anna still remained unbreakable. He finally managed to release his pain through tears, drenching his ebony fur with their tracks.

* * *

{Flashback}

It was a canvas of brilliance abstracting against the darkened sky. Light snow began to descend as the disjointed glows of the restless city became captured in restless waters. The Winter Soldier lay on the cement rooftop, fully garbed his black combat uniform, and pressed the muscled planes of his abdomen flat in bench rest position. His severe blue eyes were locked on the target, his metal hand supporting the rifle, keeping the butt of the stock secured into the pocket of his tensed shoulder, as his body waited to responded to the recoiling jar of the gun's fire power. His right eye closed, and his left looked into the scope lens, he wasn't focusing on her, just the mission. He breathed in the frigid air, tuning into the own sound of his steady heart thumping in his ears. Everything dulled as he disabled the safety lock. Once he was in range, and the target's head was in the position, he pulled the trigger and made the kill shot.

Glass shattered into pieces and blood spilled onto the champagne rug of the hotel room. The mission was complete. Target eliminated. He looked over his shoulder, his blue eyes fixed on her leaning against the wall. He departed from the world of red, his vision cleared as he stared at the flawless beauty waiting in folds of silence. Anya. His alluring and dangerous partner -a level six operative of the Red Room. She was trained and unmade to become a killer and thief of infiltration. Her methods were prestige and she used the elements of shadow around her, vanishing into the darkness like smoke fading in moonlight. She was also brazen, unpredictable and young.

Standing to his full height, Bucky took a moment and his dark, stark, blue eyes drank in the sight of his elusive partner; she was dressed in a black coat with a collar to protect her statuette neck, on the shoulders were stitched patterns of silver and her long brunette hair covered by a wool hat. Her dark eyes were soulless and hypnotic, she was designed by Zola to manipulate and slay men -actress, dancer and assassin. The masters gave her a codename to carry the essence of Russia and the vibrant colors of red every time she completed the directive of the mission-Jewel Crimson.

"If your trying to distract me, it's not working," He growled dissembling his rifle and placing the pieces into a duffle bag. "You did well tonight. A little sloppy, but you'll get the hang of it once your body becomes immune to the vibrations of taking a kill shot."

"Sloppy?" Ayna shot back, only a hint of irritation evident in her stoic voice. Her eyes flashed a bit and she ground her teeth as she pushed herself gracefully off the wall and took a step towards her mission partner. "I hardly think that is an adequate description. But what could you see of my doings with your eye fixed on the scope? Unless I truly did distract you, in which case you are the sloppy one, not me." Her tone was slightly mocking but also the tiniest bit playful, and she waited to see how her companion would respond. How much of his humanity remained?

"It's different up here. You need to focus on your surroundings at all times." He gritted with a disgruntled tone, eyes sharp and darkened by the tresses of hair falling over his faceplate. "I have been given the orders to instruct and discipline you." His throat started to ache and lips held a grimace against the hot metal of the mouthpiece that covered his strong jaw. As his eyes adjusted to the red flashes of siren lights, confusion begun to pound against his skull, in a dull and relentless throb. It was infectious to stare at her, and for the first time he felt a connection that hadn't been rewired into his mind.

Shaking off those feelings, he heaved out a strangled breath, too stubborn to remove the plate off his slacken feverish skin. He wore a guarded cold semblance and spoke with firmness as he executed out an order. "I expect that you will receive this information well...If you refuse to obey these commands you will sent back into solitary confinement."

What little mirth had been in Anya's attitude was quenched, and she dropped her gaze. It seemed like her partner had, for a brief second, felt something; a hidden warmth had been sparked behind his eyes for a moment. But when he returned to his cold, unfeeling expression, Anya was reminded of the terrible, inescapable fact that they were not human. They were just tools in the fist of HYDRA, and nothing could ever change that. There was, therefore, no point in trying to sugarcoat anything. They should just do their missions without emotion or even consideration.

"I understand," she responded coldly. "In what ways should I improve?"

The Winter Soldier released a rough and deep breath. He thumped his boots closer to her. His imposing shadow blocked the moonlight shining in her rich brown eyes.

He seized her delicate wrist with his strong hand-and restrained her against the wall. His chest was an inch too close to hers, heart pounding under the leather of his uniform. With a gentle squeeze, he lifted her arm to his metal shoulder. The Soldier was so tense and yet his haunting blue eyes held a stillness in them. "You have to learn to trust your partner," he responded in a muffled voice, almost grating up his parched throat, all the while fighting against his programming. He looked down at her fair and crestfallen exterior with a searing glare. "It will become a your weakness of violation, Kotenok."

"You're not making that easy," Anya responded with an icy scowl. She regretted words as soon as they exited her mouth, and she sucked in a breath as she prepared for some form of discipline. Her stubbornness might be an advantage during a mission, but in the aftermath it could become her downfall. "We both need to trust each other," she said, trying to recover quickly. "It doesn't just go one way."

He looked at her, his blue eyes narrowed to his bionic hand. His shoulders grew rigid and he took a step back. "Apologies," he said in a low rumble, his head bowed, and messy strands draped over his exposed features. "I'm not use to having someone watch my back and I sense that you are afraid of me?" He decoded her emotions and gave her an assuring squeeze on the shoulder. "I will not harm you," he divulged, inclining his intense gaze back to her. "You know that your life is for HYDRA...Nothing else."

"I know," she said, trying to mask the bit of disappointment that crept into her mind. She didn't know why, but she felt that she should exist for more than just HYDRA. But she could not conjure up any reason to wish for anything outside of the webs of HYDRA, so she shoved the considerations from her mind. She was not made to think; only to obey.

"I never intend to undermine HYDRA," she said, her tone strongly conveying her loyalty, blind though it was, to her handlers.

"You should not use such words in your defense." His soft baritone voice carried through, neither placating nor condescending as he observed her. "It's necessary to obey if you want to survive." The Soldier stood firm as she sent a hard glare his way. The edge of his concealed lips faintly quirked as he suppressed a smirk. Of the many students he could recall having trained in his lifetime, this one here both intrigued and frustrated him unlike any other. It was her defiant spirit.

His memory was clouded, but he could remember training many frightened little girls and angry boys for Hydra and KGB in his past. The few to have survived his teachings never possessed a defiant courage such as this one. Though she was by no means a little girl, she carried the wounded spirit of one inside a grown woman's body. His eyes softened as he looked over her youthful appearance.

"Unless, of course…" He cocked his head to the side, his long dark strands cover his eyes like curtains, "...you really want to die out here…" His words were manipulative and cold. He knew anger was a strong motivator and since his access to her was restricted to provide close comfort, he knew that this was the most effective way of reaching her.

Anya was not sure how to take the comment, but she felt at least partially insulted. Anger flared behind her eyes, and narrowed them and fixed the Soldier with her keen gaze. "I am not going to die, not here or anywhere else. You misjudge me."

His blue eyes held the darkness of an arising storm while his blank expression grew unyielding and feverish at the fire coursing in her veins. As chaotic and invigorating as this mission had been on rooftops, he was despondent to find that it was all work and no play; and if there was one he wanted more than a hot pelting shower, it was running his real hand through her long mahogany hair, ripping off that mask and getting lost into a passionate embrace with her. It seemed she also knew his thoughts, almost as if they have been engaging into this dangerous game for years-he remembered her as a child sitting in a classroom with other girls. He remembered sparring with a young woman-same red lips and brown eyes. Confusion lapped his mind like unsettled waves, and he fell into utter nostalgia. He had memories with her...There was a deceptive lie that kept them apart.

"I..." He swallowed. "I feel like I know you." The Winter Soldier's gravelly tone dipped down into soft and reverent voice. He breathed in the lavender scent wafting off her pale skin. It was calm that he once felt before. Every time he stole a glance at her another spark of memory flared. He hadn't been searching for her in the dark abyss, and yet somehow she found her way back to him. Through reality and time.

_Anya._

Those were the major factors that kept him frozen in the silence as he rocked a step forward and invaded her space with a heavy heart. Those moments passed, somber, slow and irrelevant, and when he reached to clutch her shoulder, there was a wall of restriction building in the space between them. He wanted his emotions to remain unnoticed. Unseen by her. Unwilling though to show her just how much power she held over him, the Soldier resolved to a more casual and restrained approach that equaled the scorching tension she was exuding. He was taking a huge risk. "Did we have another mission together?"

Anya allowed her stubborn pride to drift away as she looked harder into the icy eyes of the Soldier before her. Something did seem familiar in them; she had either not noticed or ignored the sensation until now. But how could she know him? Was he from another mission? Or from her own erased past? She wondered why the knowledge of her previous acquaintance with this man made her stomach twist within her.

Then, out of nowhere, a name appeared. At first there was no background, no picture, not anything but a feeling. It was a good feeling, and it was a good name, so Anna let her mind cling to them.

"James?" she whispered under her breath, looking up from her musings to see if there was any recognition in the gaze of the Soldier.

His eyes instantly snapped down, not excepting to hear his name-his real name, he froze in utter shock. The mar of his memories with her entreated his several painful heartbeats to subside. When he focused his glassy blue eyes on her, cloud cover dissolved the bite in his tears. Releasing feverish pitches of heavy breath, he reached up and slowly removed his mouth-piece cover his jaw, feeling his clammy skin react to the coolness of the air.

He breathed and stared for a long moment, allowing the conflicts of his past to resurface. Feeling a sense of unease, he methodically began clenching his metal hand tight and fierce. Trying to cleanse the poison in his veins was hard at first; he never broke his eyes away from her. "I know you..." His tone was deep and throaty; his lips slacked into a hint of an unsettling frown and tongue curled up in his mouth as he stammered. "We're more than just partners."

Anya felt moisture sting her eyes, and she sucked in a shaky breathe as foreign emotions swept through her body. She felt her hand irresistibly drawn out, and before she knew it, she had taken the Soldier's-James'-hand in her own, clasping it tightly. There was strength and steadiness in his grasp, and amidst the tumult of manipulated memories, she found a bit of refuge.

"James," she breathed, not now as a question but a plea. "I..." she faltered, a tear spilling out onto her cheek. "They took you away! Oh James, how can we go back to them? Please don't tell me we have to go back."

She lost her restraint and rushed forward, meeting James in a sobbing embrace. Moments ago, she had not known herself capable of such emotion, but now it seemed that it had been pent up the whole time. She allowed herself to cry into the Soldier's strong shoulder, feeling that it was safe to do so, even without specific memories to confirm her assumptions. She was losing herself, yet gaining more than anything HYDRA had ever offered. But what did James say? Anna pulled back a bit and looked into her partner's eyes, searching for hope and affirmation.

Disarmed. Blood was flowing faster and harsher in his veins. He was molded into the Red Room-butchered and tortured until his defiance was broken. Watching her become a victim of HYDRA's twisted delusions was unbearable, almost hard for him to breathe as he felt the stiff ache compromise his chest. "We have to go back. They'll kill us if we disobey, Anya."

"I will go with you if that's what you want," Anya said after a long pause. "But I don't think living there is much better than dying out here. Not if they take what is most precious to us." Her eyes still glistened with tears, but she was recovering a bit of her composure. She let out a sigh and took a step back, though she would have liked to stay by his side. Now she felt cold and alone, but it did help her focus her mind. "I guess we should get moving, then. The possibility of danger rises every second we remain near the kill sight."

"They won't detect us if we stick to the shadows," He returned with sentiment gleaming in his blue eyes, his flesh hand seized her wrist, heating the frosty exterior of her exposed skin.

Her fingers maneuvered around and closed around his hand, clenching it tightly. She stared into his haunting gaze, losing herself momentarily in his eyes. But her instincts were urging her to move before they invited trouble, so she simply nodded in response to his statement, ready to follow him back to the rendezvous.

"Anya," he said in a low, smoky tone. The drizzle of rain prickled his skin as he caught her gaze in those moments of silence. He felt trapped, lost and numb as his blue eyes focused on the light captured in the darkness of her pupils. He brought her hand closer to his armored chest, fingers splayed over her cold knuckles, securing an ease of warmth as he felt her shiver against the remnants of the light down pour. This had become their defining moment, nothing mattered-just her. "Do you trust me?" he asked in a shallow breath, watching her nod in response.

With that, he drew his lips closer to affix with the softness of her pale cheek. He tilted his head, sloppy tresses of hair stuck to his jaw, and in fluid motion he crushed a searing kiss close enough to her lips, relishing the feel of heat and cold mixing under the edges of mouth as she closed her eyes and cherished one mending piece of devotion with him. They were still connected, in love and strong.

* * *

Closer. When the word invaded his hazardous thoughts, Bucky sucked back a despondent breath, his luminous blue eyes locked onto her for a moment. The air buffeted against their fur as hesitation whirled in his veins. "I never meant for you to feel pain, Anna." He tested his words in a delicate manner. His wayward paw reached out to caress her. It had been more than a decade of neglecting his emotions. He tried to confront his own heart, no matter if uncertainty clashed against him, he would tell her the truth. I love you.

Pushing the guilt down was the only way to prevent it from controlling him, fear and pain pulsing in his temple as he hitched out a breath, but the coldness grew in him, spreading and devouring. He wanted to say so much, but those words didn't go very far. "What happened back in Russia, it doesn't matter. We're together. We're alive. And I'm not letting you do this mission solo," he declared, in a firm timbre. His eyes hard and determined. "This is our fight...Our life."

"I hope so, James," she said, letting his tender touch linger. She tried to absorb the hope and warmth that rested in James' eyes, imagining what it would be like to be truly free. "I am weary of being dead."

"Don't say that!" Bucky shot back with a flat venomous tone, holding his tongue. He crinkled his muzzle into a distasteful scowl. His furry hide bristled. He felt powerless as memories of her being strapped in the chair twisted out of the cervices of his mind. "It's hurts so much. I can't think about losing you again."

He resisted the urge to take a step back once he saw her eyelids narrow to slits. Tempering himself, he knew practicality wouldn't help either of them right now. Neither would denial. "I know it's been long time since we lost each other, but we have to keep a cool head, otherwise we'll never have that chance to make them pay, Anna." Bucky narrowed his eyes, head down, and looked at the kittens huddling closer to her. "We have to keep up our strength...and try not to let this get to us."

"Try not to let this get to us!" Anna growled back. She unsheathed her claws, tail swaying against the snow. "Has it crossed your mind that we're CATS?" She was enraged and patience was wearing thin in her. "Worthless and homeless strays that prowl the streets looking for warmth." Her paw swiped over the wrappers. "I never wanted any of this...I wanted a normal life, and to live it without HYDRA tracking us down like animals...Not like this, James. We're not living...We're just surviving from day to day."

This time, it was Bucky's turn to narrow his eyes into slits. Anna's anger, while justified, still struck a nerve in him as her words resonated in his mind.

Stalking forward, his expression puckered, and his eyes met hers in what could be considered a stare-down. "This isn't easy for me either, Anna. Do you think I'm enjoying being a guinea pig, AGAIN, for Hydra? This isn't the first time they've taken something from me!" His tone had grown to a feverish pitch, the anger in his tone restrained but the passion and pain clearly evident with his words. He wouldn't unleash his temper on Anna. He would reserve it for those that truly deserved it. Those that had once again found a way to make his existence a living hell.

"I was a monster before. They took away my humanity. My memories…they took away you." The cat bowed his head, eyes shut tight as he did his utmost not to crumble. "Right now I might not be standing on two legs or even have a place to call home… But I have my memories, and I have YOU." He exhaled roughly, his shoulders shaking as his confession poured out. "That's all I need right now to help us get through and find a way out of this. We. Will. Get. Out. Of. This." He enunciated with determined icy blue eyes that would leave no room for doubt.

Anna tore her infuriated brown orbs from him. There was a measure of desperation and remorse in his voice. 'I'm adaptable.' She thought looking down at the kittens pouncing on one another.

She used to be the kind of person that would eat weakness alive. She wasn't weak or a sucker.

Sighing a deep and painful breath, the disgruntled feline sauntered away from him. The connection-the love and devotion they once had- was diminished by the sick enchantment. She needed to seclude herself from him. How could he love her as cat? They couldn't hold each other in their arms, dance, and finally kiss. Cats didn't love, they just allowed nature to take its course and become enslaved by the instincts to survive. "Face it, handsome. We're different and it's time for us to adapt to this life." She turned her head, and looked back at him. "I trusted and fought with you all those years...I'm not giving up on you. Lead the way and I will follow you, James Barnes."

Bucky leaned in forward, closed his eyes and pressed his muzzle against the side of her face, stroking affectionately. "I really want to kiss you right now, but I don't think it will work." He nuzzled his face onto her back, pressing her against him and dampened her fur with a gentle lick. Listening as a rumble of contentment escaped from her. It was a relief.

"We'll find a way, James," she whispered. "We're fighters to the end."

* * *

**A/N: A big thank you as always to my wonderful co-writer and also a huge hug from my Beta Reader. Amazing work.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

* * *

The scent of vanilla ice coffee permeated the brisk air. Sam leaned against the driver's side door of his metallic blue Chevy his keeping his distance from Steve.

For a moment he had been stuck in a strange abyss of despondence, a place filled with horrible and gut wrenching images of failure. He saw the marble cracking through the engraved letters of his father's gravestone; the shattered glass with fragments of gun powder residue and the blank face plastered on his mother when the mugger pulled the trigger.

His past was interwoven web of regrets and mistakes-he wasn't seeking redemption as the Falcon, or searching for peace. He was fighting for other people's freedom so that they would never have to endure his pain and the endless torment his thoughts conceived when he drifted back into the shadows of his past.

Inhaling the cold relief of the frigid breeze, he took a shaky sip of his coffee, while his dark eyes were aware and focused on his distressed friend crouched on top of a picnic table.

The changes from the spell were increasing each hour. After the incident at the coffee shop, Steve had stormed away from all the bewildered and frightened looks of thrown his way by customers. The effects for the curse were devolving his body into a untamed beast.

Right now, Sam could see the inner struggle plainly clouding the stoic captain's hooded light azure eyes, the distant grief and burdens Steve carried within his noble spirit. Steve was a master fighter and a compassionate leader. Not a victim or a caged animal.

Steve knew the limits and consequences of his choices; but this curse or whatever HYDRA science had infected him with was taking a toll on not just his body, but also his resilience and heart. Steve wanted a life with Peggy. He loved her to the point that his heart would shatter into pieces each moment his stare fell onto her wrinkled skin and murky dull brown eyes. He wanted to retire from his duties as a soldier and take another road-there was a division. A blockade that forced him to drive off course-his love was now trapped inside a fading shell of a woman lost in shadows of memory and his humanity was becoming devoured by the curse. There was no easy road to take. Sam had his back, standing at his left and helping him cope through the dire situation unfolding each hour. He only had twenty- four hours left to free Bucky from the sordid enchantment.

"So how much time to do you have left?" Sam interjected with a curious tone, looking evenly at the shadows of regret etched into the glazed chiseled skin of Steve's angular face. Sweat was pouring out him. The brim of the baseball cap was tipped over his brow and his swollen lips were fastened into a neutral line. His blue eyes stung and expression placid.

Sam blew out a breath of frustration. He needed to be strong. He proceeded forward ever so cautiously and tempered the racing tempo in his chest. He could be treading on dangerously territory since the curse was fully effecting Steve, but he couldn't shy away from his friend no matter what the curse had befell him. He leaned down and risked his hand as it moved towards Steve's tensed shoulder. A breath away from contact... Sam wasn't alarmed nor surprised when his wrist was seized in a tight grip with lightning fast speed.

"Sam..." A deep-hoarse toned bellowed from under the obscurity of the hat.

Sam steeled himself and held up a cool and composed mask as he stood face-to-face with Steve - what had become of him to those few moments of silence.

"Steve..." Sam spoke with concern as he stared into the familiar yet completely strange face in front of him.

The face of a handsome man merged with that of a dog-a beast. His jaw was longer, his teeth as well as his pointed ears. His short blonde hair wild and unkempt, falling in thick strands in front of his face. His skin that was once a healthy flush gleamed with sickening sweat. A untamed snarl erupted out of his seething canines as he fought to regain emotional strength. And his eyes-those familiar unchanging ice blue eyes-burned with dangerous fire that could consume him were he to stare and venture too far into them.

It would intimidate and frighten the unseasoned eye as it did with a few unfortunate citizens at the coffee shop. But to a hardened soldier such as Sam - who had seen countless horrors in his young lifespan - he met it with unflinching eyes and a firm resolve. "Hey, man, it's okay," he spoke reassuringly to his unyielding and transforming friend.

Steve snorted as he released Sam's wrist then lowered his head down. "You should just leave me, Sam..." He growled in a deep and booming tone that would be sure to put the other Avengers quivering with unease.

Sam moved away and took a seat on the wooden plank. "You need to stop fighting this battle alone." He trailed off...unsure of what else to say. All thought and hope abandoned him as he let his gaze wander into the reflections of the cracked shield. The light fall of snow became an eased comfort to keep him from falling apart in front of the enchanted super-soldier. His brown eyes searched though the shimmer of ally for a proper voice to his thoughts. His turmoil. He reflected on his training and the best way a soldier-a wing man- to alleviate his emotions was to focus on duty above all. It was in that he took guidance from.

"Captain America never gives up when things like this get him down. We'll find a way to change you back, Steve. No matter the cost." Those words sounded hollow on his tongue despite solicitude they should bring.

"It's not your fight..." Steve responded in a disgruntled whisper.

Sam closed his eyes and dipped his head solemnly. "No...My friend is in trouble. I can't sit here and allow him to carry out this battle alone." He again trailed off, unsure of himself and how he he should proceed to his intended thoughts.

"Sam, I don't except you to fight with this war with me," Steve spoke through, alleviating his turmoil. "I made the choice...This is my fight. I will accept defeat if it means saving lives."

"You want to live the rest of your as a dog?" Sam raised his voice a pitch higher. "What about Peggy and the Avengers. They need you...You can't give up, Steve."

"They'll be fine," Steve insisted adamantly, trying to nail down his point. "Saving people is what I'm made to do. If I had ever been willing to stop because the risk might be a little too high for comfort, I wouldn't be here right now. The point of being a hero isn't staying alive to fight another day, it's being willing to die for anyone at any time. Especially a friend." His voice broke and he took in a long, shaky breath. "I owe it to a promise to give this my all, even if that means death." He looked up and faced Sam, his eyes revealing the defiant despair of his predicament. "But if you get caught in the crossfire, things will be far worse than otherwise."

Sam felt his breath slowing. The despair that crawled into his veins, glacial and relentless. He felt useless. Soldiers never quit. He failed to save Riley and he wasn't going to fail Captain America. He wondered if Steve had been brainwashed or influenced with a mind control toxin. There was a possibility. HYDRA experimented on the Winter Soldier and Natasha in the Red Room, so maybe they infected Steve with a substance during the attack in the alley last night. Tumbling shards of hope poked through his chest as he listened to the continuous growling of the beast-canine- Steve was becoming. And Sam kept on persisting himself not to break down when he stole a glance at Steve's hands contorting into massive paws. He losing his friend.

"Steve," he said softly with urgency in his voice. "It's...I'm not giving up on you. Captain America. My...friend."

"Then why do you expect me to give up on mine?" Steve snapped back. He felt increasingly irritable, the effects of the curse making it exceedingly difficult to think calmly about anything. Pain was slowly swelling his mind and his gradually changing body, and the stress of it all weighed on his thoughts like a truckload of bricks. "I have to do this, even if..." he trailed off with a disheartened grimace. "I can't count the cost to myself right now. Bucky is all that matters."

"Bucky?" Sam nearly choked on a breath. His brow furrowed into a dumbfounded expression. He literally felt the cold metal touch of the Winter Soldier's grasp squeeze his heart. The intense and empowering images of the menacing face behind frays of disheveled longish locks of the phantom invade his mind. At first, his lungs cracked with a strain of breath and dread lessened. "Steve, you're talking about the brainwashed HYDRA assassin who tried to kill you...The Winter Soldier?"

Steve sighed a bit, wondering where the discussion would go now. None of his friends could really understand the pain and yet arbitrary devotion he felt on the subject of Bucky, but it was wearying to carry the truth alone. "Yeah; he was the Winter Soldier. He was caught in this curse even before I was, and I've been trying to help him get out of it." He paused, taking in a slow and unsteady breath. "I think I can save him, Sam. I failed him so long ago, and I can't let him slip past my reach again."

Clearing his throat, Sam fought against the vexation clinging to every fiber in his body. He searched for the reserves of truth in the captain's luminous blue eyes, and released a faint sigh with small fraction of sentiment towards the assassin's fate. "So Bucky can transform into a dog like you?" he asked.

"No; his form is a black cat," Steve corrected evenly. "He hasn't ever been able to become human again since the first transformation. It's been way harder on him than on me. He's been under the curse for a long time."

"Are you sure about that, Steve?" Sam felt a tight knot of weariness constrict in his gut. A constant pulse of remorse surged in his veins as he turned his stare away and recollected his thoughts. "It could be a trap...He is an operative for HYDRA. They might he using him to get to you..."

"Could I possibly risk not helping him?" Steve asked in a strained voice. All the dangers posed by HYDRA seemed insignificant when Steve thought about Bucky suffering alone. His friend had been through enough torture; the least Steve could do, especially as Captain America, was fight for Bucky's freedom. "What would you have me do even if it is a trap? How could I let them do this to him?" Tears threatened to spill onto Steve's cheeks, and his throat constricted with emotion. This was an impossibly difficult situation, and he felt like it was ripping his soul to pieces.

Sam narrowed his dark eyes, a harrowing sense of trepidation stirred beneath him, and he tried to convince himself that Steve would make out alive-extract himself from HYDRA's shadow and regain his inner strength. He made his face more leveled with the captain's face and searched through the opaque storms of his blue eyes; trying to find remnants of hope-the existence of humanity that was still buried beyond the folds of the curse. After draining out a heavy and long breath, while maintaining eye contact and his heart become pent up with the desire to save his friend.

"Steve," he whispered, almost forcing the words out of him. It felt like a stab in the heart to feel empathetic towards a man who tore his wings apart and kicked him over the side of the helicarrier. Even still, he had to show humility to his enemy and cast all remorse aside...He had to forgive Bucky. Seizing the the overwhelming promise that laid across his heart, Sam gripped the super-soldier's rigid shoulder and erased all doubt-and cold vengeance. "It's not going to be easy..." he resumed his words. "...whatever you need to do...I'll be right behind you."

Steve gave a genuine smile and nodded. He could see that it took a lot of effort for Sam to support him, and he knew that this was due at least in part to their previous encounters with HYDRA's asset. But Steve had already witnessed some healing of Bucky's soul in the days they had been together, and cursed or not, his friend was becoming bit by bit like his old self. Steve just prayed that Sam would one day meet the Bucky that had defended Steve when they were only boys.

"Thank you, Sam," he said quietly. "I know this isn't exactly ideal, especially for you, but I have hope that we can save him. And when we do, you'll meet someone very different from the Winter Soldier."

For a silent moment, Sam fixed his stare at the patches of fur coating the skin into between Steve's knuckles as the world spun around him. Knowing that Steve was preparing to make the ultimate sacrifice for Bucky made him feel the raw torrents of guilt coarse into his veins-he lost Riley because he never dared himself to move when the hail of bullets rained and blocked out the sun. And all he saw as a glimpse of his wing man's body falling out of the sky...from his reach forever. He swore an oath that he would always have his partner's back...No matter the cost or how impossible finding hope might be when the smoke cleared. Listening to the measure of gravity in Steve's determined voice ...that really hit home, and then he realized that he was being selfish towards allowing his anger cloud his judgement with Bucky-his father told him there was always a reason why good men have trails in their journey-whether it was a test or a lesson -he had to trust his friend and his own heart during these dire hours.

At the same time, he felt a twist of relief when his eyes fell onto the silver plated compass secured in Steve's trembling hand. If there was anyone to anchor Steve Rogers out of the raging tempests and back into a safe harbor it was Peggy Carter. He sighed shortly. "Do you want me to drop you off at the nursing home?" he implored softly, watching the soldier's face morphed into abashed expression of sheer defeat. "Steve?"

Steve snapped out of his thoughts and sorrow and looked up. "Yeah," he answered somewhat distantly. Although looking at Peggy's aged face would bring him pain, he knew it would also help him find his courage and strength. He eyes had never dimmed, and their hope was contagious. He could use a good faith-infection today. "That'd be great," he said, finally making eye contact with Sam and nodding. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it, Cap," Sam managed to pull his lips into a assuring smile moving towards the truck.

* * *

With Sam's words, the conversation ended. The two men remained silent as they began to head for the nursing home, each wading through the thousands of worries and thoughts in their minds. Steve was busying being concerned about Bucky, and Sam, in turn, was concerned for Steve. But their worries did little to affect the situation, and Steve found that time passed quickly as they drove towards their destination. Finally, they pulled into the parking lot of the nursing home, the place which Steve felt he both loved and dreaded above any other.

"Should I go in with you?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"If you could help me get past the front desk, that's be great," Steve answered, looking over his partially transformed body. "I'm not sure how I'll get in there without raising a big ruckus."

Sam considered the problem for a moment before rolling down his car window and looking at the building itself. "Which floor is she on?" he asked.

"First one; ground level," Steve answered, trying to piece together Sam's request. "Why?"

"You wait out here," Sam instructed, unbuckling his seat belt and opening his door. "When the window opens and I wave you over, come in."

"Is that really necessary?" Steve asked, cocking his head slightly. He'd broken into many places for both the Allies and the Avengers, but never a nursing home. It just didn't seem right. "We could freak some people out."

"Well, Cap," Sam said with a humorless chuckle, "I think the alternative would freak people out even more."

Steve knew Sam was right. There was no practical way for him to get past the receptionist; they had no supplies with which he could adequately disguise himself, and even if they did, he wasn't sure how straight he could stand up. It was hard enough just to sit in the seat of a car without his arms-quickly becoming forelegs-pulling him forward. All things considered, sneaking in through the window might be the only way inside.

"Alright," Steve yielded with huff of breath. "But be sure to...warn Peggy about what to expect."

Sam gave an understanding nod and swung the car door closed, walking up the sidewalk and towards the front of the building. Steve sat uncomfortably in the car, waiting with his eyes fixed on the window of Peggy's room. He felt his heart rate rise and his brain begin to scramble. What if she was appalled by his grotesque and monstrous appearance? The very idea of being rejected by Peggy was enough to make him shiver. She was his only link with the past, and he needed her.

After a few painfully long minutes, Steve saw the window open and Sam's face appear, waving him in. Steve clumsily opened the car and headed for the window, looking around to make sure no one was watching him. When he reached the wall, he put his paw-like hands on the sill and lifted himself into the room, finding Peggy's bejeweled brown eyes almost immediately amid all the other objects.

Sam kept the nurses busy outside the room; using his mildly humorous jokes about Tony Stark to serve as an distraction.

The sound of his boots dragging on the floor had lulled her awareness. "Steve?" Peggy murmured with incoherent whisper. Tears were building in her eyes as she searched for him through the dimness of the room. Her frail arms tried to lift her brittle room an inch off the mattress, but her eyes glint with arising hope as she managed to reach tentatively for his paw-like hand. She blinked momentarily, fighting to regain clarity as she stared at the towering shadow of the defiant and virtuous soldier she had loved for a lifetime.

There was distance between them; Steve reluctantly kept himself stoic in the steams of light. He didn't response to her at first, it was almost as if he was ashamed of his twisted and bedeviled shape while having a small quell with the beast stirring inside of him.

Peggy leveled her dark eyes on his leather boots drenched with flecks of snow. He was standing near the window, glazed with feverish sweat underneath his blue jacket; his breath grew into erratic pitches of frustration. Hard and sculpted bulk of muscle held a flush tinge as he shifted his intense blue eyes to the floor-his blonde hair was messy of drenched strands that seemed to stick on his sweaty brow. He was different...His entire form increased with rigid mass and there were remnants of canine fur encased over his chiseled features.

He really looked that he had tasted defeat with the Red Skull. Drawing out a shaky exhale, Peggy lifted her trembling hand, guiding him closer to the bed side and that was when she had noticed a swath of fur on his broad jawline. The man in front of her...He wasn't Steven Grant Rogers...He was condemned victim of a morbid circumstance. In other words, he was changing into a monster.

"Captain is that you?" she asked, feeling a dull throb pent inside her straining heart. "Steve-"

"Yeah, Peggy," Steve answered gently, stepping forward and taking her aged, wrinkled hand in his own. He felt emotion well up inside his throat as he registered the different sensations from his own hand-those caused by his changing form. It was so unnatural, so inhuman, that he wished he could get away from himself. But he tried to shove those thoughts away, and to better do so, he stared into Peggy's rich, chocolate eyes. "It's me," he said quietly, just loud enough for Peggy to hear.

Despite her illness, she could still detect his inner struggle. "Is everything alright, you seem very different?"

Steve opened his mouth to answer, but he could not immediately come up with a response. He looked deeper into Peggy's undaunted gaze and clasped her hand tightly, let a sigh of weariness escape his lips. "Things haven't exactly been easy this past week, Peggy. A lot of innocent people are experiencing a new form of HYDRA's wrath and it something that I have never faced before on the battlefield."

Hearing the humorous edge in his voice, Peggy stifled her withered lips into a tentative smile, "You were always so dramatic, Captain " she wheezed out a breath, forcing herself to fight against the ache spreading through her chest.

Watching his smile fade dismally as canine incisors poked from his lips. She wasn't afraid of his appearance, nor did she question the circumstance. Beyond the golden fur and pointed ears was still her right partner, even though her vision was blotchy and memory fogged with dementia, she held onto him and tried to gave him a sense of ease. "A lot has changed between us...You're still the most bravest and strongest of men I have ever had a privilege to know..Do not let this new change muck up your life, Steve, use what you gained and let it become your strength when fighting the noblest of fights."

Steve let out a slow, steady breath, but he shook his head slightly. "I know you're right, Peggy. It's just that this darkness is darker than any I have yet faced. I don't think I'll be able to come out at the end of this one unchanged. And that makes it hard."

Peggy shook her head, refusing those words. Carefully, she bought his hand to her chest, holding it there in those long moments of utter silence. "Are you afraid of defeat, Steve...Changes sometimes happen to test our strength whether in the body or spirit. Do not doubt yourself, because of this new mask you are wearing, find yourself in a different reflection."

Steve let Peggy's words sink in. She was right; she was always right. His body-this transformation-was really only a mask. He was still Steve. He was still Captain America. That meant that he could never let injustice go without a fight, no matter how difficult it would be for him to wage the battle. That was just who he was, dog or not. But the worry about Bucky remained in his mind, and he found himself unable to be rid of it.

"You're right, Peggy," he said softly, nodding slowly. "The problem is that this is bigger than me. They've got Buck wrapped up in this web, too. And even if I can have strength to face HDYRA, I don't know if Bucky can. Not on his own; not after what's already been done to him. And how can I fight on undaunted if I can't help him? I just feel so...powerless."

"You haven't lost the fight yet, Steve," Peggy muffled out a strained breath, her lips becoming dry as the bitter aftertaste of her medicine scraped against her throat. "There is always a path to be chosen when we lose ourselves in the darkest of storms..." She coughed, sealing her eyelids shut as tears streamed down her wrinkled and bony cheeks. Her fiery spirit had grown tired of being imprisoned in a fading shell. She wanted to feel young and live with him again. "I wish that I could fight this battle with you..I wish that so much, my darling."

"No one wishes that more than I do," Steve replied with a small smile. "I feel like I could face anything with you at my side. But I guess in a way, you do come with me. I carry your spirit with me into the fray; I have since I first met you. And it hasn't failed me yet. Peggy, I can't..." his voice broke with emotion, but he swallowed and continued. "I can't tell you how much you mean to me. Thanks for always being there for me."

Peggy hushed him with a firm tone,"Steve, I have known you so long. So long..." She lifted her aged spotted hands off the wrinkled sheets, and touched his face. "You deserve to live your life without the uniform. A soldier always knows when fight and never when it quit. You carry on the mission and never ask for things in return." She manged hold her emaciated features into a faint smile. She breathed harsh and painful. Her curled arthritic fingers gently stroked over the smoothness of his broad jaw. Steve looked down at her with emotion deteriorating in his blue eyes and he pulled himself close. She saw the burdens of his past welling deep into his steady gaze. "One day, you find your right partner and she will dance you and guide out of the storms of this life..." Her heart was aching. "You will love and cherished her as a good man, husband and a shield. That's all I want for you, Captain Rogers."

"I already found my partner," Steve insisted gently, looking past the age and seeing only the woman he had loved seventy years ago. "And there will never be anyone who can hold a candle to her."

With a grimace, Steve pressed his hands against Peggy's, but they were little more than paws now. His mind was weary, and for the first time, he felt like perhaps transforming here, next to Peggy, would be safe. He didn't have to be on guard now, so why not let his mind have a little rest? He would need mental energy later, and Peggy would not begrudge him for changing before her. She would understand, and her presence would be soothing.

Steve let out a sigh and dropped his mind's defenses. The curse swept in and invaded what little had not been under its dominion. His body rapidly finished the transformation that had been slowly occurring since he awoke at Sam's house.

It hurt, but the pain had always been present, and it was not very startling anymore.

He clenched his eyes shut until it was all over, and he when he opened them again, he was the same golden-haired husky he had been a day ago.

Peggy blinked once, twice as the harsh afternoon light spread against the room, but the blur of a fur was a slow resolve, and the large dog with wobbled closer to the beside, golden blur. This wasn't the first time she'd seen the elements of magic trap a human spirit inside a vessel, and fade deep into the strongholds of a curse, and she slowly drifting back into the past, recovering memories of her work with the SSR and with the daring and stubborn elite task force-the group of efficient and gritty fighters-the Howling Commandos.

It had been nearly a decade since she reentered that world and gave her pledge in the service of humanity and liberty. She remember infiltrating a HYDRA base and staring down a glowing green stone that was small enough to fit into the palm of her hand. An level six informant had kept the relic inside a tin box-there was a secret behind the forbidden power that created the same force of energy of the cube. It was not of earth origin.

_ Steve, I need to tell you about something of the past...A dangerous power that if in the wrong hands will destroy of all of us ... _She wanted to say those words to him, but the restricting pain in her chest prevented her. With a storm of dread looming over him, Steve looked displaced and weakened—he looked utterly defeated. Peggy swallowed, trying to reach for him as her shaky fingers gently stroke over his fur, but she didn't say anything.

"Peggy," Steve whispered and tilted his head, nudging his muzzle against her hand. _Everything hurt. _His ice blue eyes gazed intently at her for a set of long moments and he saw youth and fire flow back into her brown eyes. He saw his Peggy return in a faint glimpse of searching for a chance unbidden hope. The constant pull on his heart strings drove him back into that moment when he heard her voice beckoning him to come back for their dance at the Stork Club.

He never had forgotten that sobbing plea of her heart as the radio faded out when he felt the impact of ice and water. None of that mattered. He was with her for a short time to comfort her and find a way to restore everything that was taken from them. "I've got a lot of things to tell you..." he confessed, holding her gaze. He released a slow breath, a few heartfelt words latched against his aching spirit. "...you told me once that being Captain America will always have a price, but I never thought everyone would pay it with me."

She let her eyes fall shut. "Steve..."

Steve trailed off and remained silent. Peggy's breathing became more steady, and he knew she had handled all the turmoil of thought she could for today. He was simply glad to be beside her; her presence was enough reassurance and strength for him to carry on the mission. Tentatively, he summoned enough confidence and nuzzled her laden hand lightly while giving her an small affectionate lick and he savored the touch of her wrinkled fingers caressing over his fur. Peggy had never ceased to give him hope, and today had been no different. He closed his own eyes and let out a canine sigh, taking in all the wonderful peace of the moment. He knew he wouldn't have it much longer.

"I'm here, Peg," he whispered, and sat against the mattress frame, protecting her. "I always will be for my best girl."

* * *

A/N: A huge thank-you to my wonderful and amazingly talented co-author. She is the best.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

* * *

"Hello, Captain," her soft and pure variants of her voice lulling him away from the flashes of red haze. His thundering heart ceased to a beat, and he turned around with doubt rushing in his veins. Neither tears or heat merged against his skin; he felt parlayed in the moment as he caught the wafting smell of split champagne and listened to the ruckus of men fighting in front of the stage.

Blinking the moisture out of his eyes, Steve resumed in a unbalance stance, unconsciously balling his fists and emitting a sharp exhale of breath. With one daring shift of his gaze, and found her standing in the amidst of a crowd of war heroes dancing with their dames.

Peggy was beautiful, breathtaking and more stronger than he could imaged her to be in those moments when their world spin to the light tempo of band. His lips parted, and blue eyes never left her. Swallowing down his words, he regarded her with glistening blue eyes and took in the sight of her radiance dressed in a blue velveteen dress, with a corsage of flowers pinned on her chest, and curled chocolate locks tied onto a bun. Everything stopped. He became trapped in the moment with her. It had been so long. It felt like heaven. They were meeting in glimpse of heaven. "Are you ready to have our dance?"

Steve faltered a step back, his eyes narrowed at the bronze uniform that covered his densely muscled body, metals he had received for his courage, valor and utmost sacrifice gleamed in the dim lights and he was frozen. "I'm not very good at dancing, Peg." he admitted sheepishly, staring into her rich brown eyes that sparkled against the stream of twinkling lights hanging over a white victory banner. The war was over. He could go home.

"Hey, Stevie, you only live once." Hearing a familiar and Brooklyn accent call out for him; Steve spun around and stared deeply at alive and jovial Bucky Barnes smirking broadly; sitting at a table wearing his military uniform, dark hair slicked back and his arm slung over a flawless, and alluring brunette with red lips. The young woman wore a black dress. They were happy and very much in love.

Peggy moved closer, her heels clicked on the floor, and she clutched his shoulder, leaning against his chest. "You're not alone. You've always had a partner...I'm here now, Steve. We can face the future together." she promised in a hushed voice, holding his hand at her side. "We can go home, my darling."

"There's nothing I want more than that, Peg," Steve breathed peacefully, bringing her hand to his lips, and brushed heat over her knuckles. "Right now, let's have our dance before the music dies out," he smiled, his blue eyes holding tears. He wrapped his arm around her waist, and pulled her closer touch her loose strands of hair touched his cheek. The world didn't feel heavy. The Paradox of his regrets dissolved as he felt the warmth of her body coil against his heart. They swayed to the gentle pace of the piano keys, and he was clutching her hand, staring lovingly into her eyes. "Is it to late to tell you..."

Peggy smirked a little, "Tell me what, Steve?"

"I love you, Peggy," he declared with a warm smile. His eyes revealed his heart. Gently, he laved his palm over her jaw, touched her jaw with his curled fingers, tilting her head back and enveloped his lips over her own, sealing a long, unhurried and perfect kiss. A kiss that would last forever. Timeless and true. She kissed her back equally, and he never parted, and -

"I love you, Steven Grant Rogers," she declared his name like it was a profound word etched over her heart. Gently, she enclosed her arms over his neck and kissed him hard and breathless. When they parted, he felt the coiling heat of her breath against his wet lips. "I will always be there to point you in the right direction..."

* * *

The faint groans of distress, awoke Peggy as she slowly opened her to eyes to morning light spreading throughout her room. Her weathered hand dangled over the edge of the mattress. She felt the unbidden warmth of his spirited presence-the heat and security nestling against her wrinkled fingers. Releasing a painful shaky breath, she managed with enough force of effort with the power of her olden determination to tilt her body close to the edge and gaze down at him. _Steve_. He was beautiful-everything she had remembered about him still existed. His youth face held a healthy glow and the chiseled sculpt of his broad jaw was no longer tense, but his lips were always the main feature that entranced her the most- perfectly shape with faint arch and they still held their kiss that was shared in another lifetime. He had returned to her, but only for a short extension of time.

Closing her heavy-lidded eyes, Peggy summoned enough strength in her brittle hand and caressed the super-soldier's blonde bedridden hair, and listened to his breath, content breathing. He needed to rest to reserve his strength to face the arising storm.

The fact, that the stalwart and defiant soldier she loved was in her room, sleeping on the floor was tortuously unfair. A stabbing pain ignited within the narrow walls of her chest, and she fought against the moisture building against her crinkled eyelids. He was still close and yet so far away from her. Regardless, she cherished every moment with him, and never broke her gaze off his face. Oddly enough, the fog that invaded her mind four years ago, lifted and she felt stronger as if she could carry the burdens of the curse with him. Sighing out a despondent breath, she gathered the tattered fragments of her heart and merged them back together. She reached down and kneaded her arthritic and bent fingers through his hair. A genuine smile fastened over her brittle lips and brown eyes sparkled against the flecks of light.

Peggy swallowed thickly against the painful gasps racking in her lungs. "Good morning, my darling," she whispered, trying to hold her emotions in check, it took immense stubbornness for her not to release tears onto her pillowcase. Inside, her heart ached a reminder to her that time would soon betray them both. She couldn't let him go.

Steve awoke with a soft and grating moan peeling in his raw throat, his stiffened muscles protesting against the hard floor. Blinking the sleep haze out of his blue eyes, he traced his fingers over his arm, fully aware of himself, that he had transformed back into his normal human form. He was not sure how this could have happened; perhaps the presence and security of his love. He did not give himself much time to question the happening, though. He rubbed his eyes and swung his legs around, lifting himself into a sitting position.

"Mornin', Peggy," he said, his voice dropping into a soothing pitch. His lips quirked into a faint crisp grin, feeling apparent joy course through his veins at the sight of her ever-bright coffee eyes. She was still beautiful. "Hey," A glacial crawl of pain threaded over his chest. He winced, staring longingly in her shining eyes. "You look very beautiful, my best girl."

It felt like she was trapped in a blissful wave of contentment, Peggy paused in a heartbeat when his light azure eyes looked steadily up at her. A sharp clench of deep regret, remaindered her of what she had lost seventy years ago. And she was still unsure how to react to him, but managed with enough strength to grip his shoulder with gentle ease. Her breaths sharpened. The sunlight became a blur as she eyes watered. Despite her pain, she resumed her stubbornness and felt her withered lips conveyed into a false smile. Everything wasn't fine.

Her face melted into a damaged expression, she cried a little, holding onto his shoulder. "Peg," he gasped tightly, feeling the desperation tug against his muscles. She wanted to become young again, the malignant sensation of despair wracked against her kinked ribs. Sensing her warring distress, he enveloped his hand over her rough knuckles and twisted veins. "Peggy, I'm here."

"It's not fair, Steve." She loosed a dry sob from her chest. It had been a decade of waiting and believing in undeniable hope that he would come back to her. She'd been lying to herself for years that she lived a good life, in the void of truth buried within her, she'd grieved from him in silent moments of staring at old photographs, war bonds collector cards and her laced wedding dress. She lived in torturous denial, condemning her own self to fall back into those memories and feel his warmth and strength, just like she always did. Now, he was there, young, defiant and untouched by time. She was losing him again. "I waited for you...For so long and now that I have you back... I'm the one who can't dance."

"Peggy-"

She felt a cough racking in her lungs, but still her eyes never left his dismal blue eyes. Steve had to embrace hope again, and believe in the impossible. She had to give him a piece of that with her words.

"Every time I look at you, I can still see that same Brooklyn kid who had been so gun ho to fight..." She pressed her lips into a grimace. She leaned an inch forward, clenching her hand tighter over his shoulder with a loving grip. A swell of regret constricted against her heart. "You've always been strong...You're going to fight this new dark form of HYDRA's new weapon against humanity, Steve. And you're going to win, because that's what Captain America does...He never surrenders."

Steve sighed and gathered his stern composure, "I suppose now would be a good time to wear my dog tags," he admitted with a labored breath, immensely frustrated with the cowardice which reside within himself and this morbid situation of being a captive of an inhumane punishment. "I need to figure out something. Soon. I don't have much time since the curse will take it's full effect tomorrow night, but I need to retrace my steps and find the locations of HYDRA's safe houses-"

"You will Steve..."

Feeling the warmth of a smile rise on his chiseled features, he flexed his biceps revealed the indentations of his broad muscle against the laves of light as he slowly lifted his massive body off the floor. "It's not going to be an easy task, Peg." He sighed, moving closer to the dresser. His pensive eyes regarded the backpack that Sam had left for him with a thoughtful expression, Sam had his back, while he unzipped a compartment of the backpack.

"Excuse me, beautiful, I gotta eat something to keep myself from sagging on the mission." he whispered. calmly, and then grimace as he tore the wrapped off a protein bar. His stomach rumbled against the emptiness, as he took a bite , devoured and chewed the bitter chocolate, oats and dried berries; relishing the combination of flavors on his pasty tongue, the snack served its purpose and filled the void. Still, he felt the dull aches of hunger rattle through his gut.

"It's not that bad...It kind of reminds me of the army snacks we used to salvage on our camps." He quickly devoured the rest of the chocolate coated bar, restraining his canine appetite from eating another. Regardless of his untamed reluctance to preserve the stash of snacks; he looked down at the half eaten bar with a disdainful gaze, feeling torn and separated from his promise to save his best friend, his brother, especially when they needed each other the most to fight. Bitterness resided in him as felt enhance strength fading into the tendrils of the spell.

The immeasurable weight of what he carried to do had been leaning too heavily on his soul; Peggy had managed to lift his burden a bit. It now seemed bearable if she was fighting with him in spirit and if her encouragement could stay with him no matter what. Steve leaned forward and gently brushed coiling warmth as his lips pressed delicately, and urgent on her wrinkled cheek.

"Thank you, Peggy," he whispered, softly against her cold skin. He pulled away, and for a moment looked into her brown eyes. "If I make it out alive, it will be in great part because of your own courage and steadfastness."

Peggy narrowed her eyes her face turned grim. She was fighting against the barest sense of the truth welled inside her heart. She tried to intersect hope that James Barnes would finally have a rewarding life away from the battlefield. Breaking HYDRA's curse wasn't impossible...Nothing was impossible. She had to tell Steve about the stone. "Steve.."

A painful wheeze resumed in her chest, and there was denying that time had weakened her heart. "...there is something I must tell you, forgive me if I don't remember all the details." Everything seemed to halt between them."When I was working with the SSR, we did a mission in Northern Germany, and discovered a rare and yet powerful relic.." She groaned, feeling her throat clogging up.

Steve detected her distress and turned around and poured her a glass of water, handing it to her. She took a small sip. forcing herself to remember. "It was a stone that glowed and changed one of HYDRA's captives into a pitiful creature..." As he listened, Steve creased his brow into a disheartened expression. "The agent called it a power stone and that it was apart of a collection."

"A power stone," Steve mumbled under his breath, trying to search though the recesses of his memory to see if he could recall such an object. All he could think of was the Tesseract, but clearly that was not what was causing the problem; it was safe with Thor in Asgard. "Do you know anything about the stone itself? Is there any way we could turn it off or destroy it, or even know where it is now?"

"It was never locked in the SSR archives," she said with certainty, and immediately narrowed her eyes at his large hand tracing over her crinkled knuckles. "But I think your changes into animal have to do with the stone's unexplained power."

Steve's brow knit together in befuddlement as he considered what that statement could mean. He already knew where it was? But he hadn't know about it before. Looking into Peggy's eyes, which were not dimmed by age, he was certain that she had spoken of what she was certain. And yet he still could not understand how she could be right. His mind was such a cloud of confusion, filled with warring sides and even pain, that he had no idea how he could dig into his memories to find that kind of information.

"Peggy, how can I know?" he asked gently, running his thumb lightly over her hand. "I don't doubt you, but I also don't follow."

Peggy winced a little, sucking back heavy breaths. "The stone can change a man into an animal if the wielder wills it, Steve."

"Yet how can I find the wielder? If only I could locate him before the curse takes its full toll on me, then maybe I could reverse its effects and save Bucky. And that would prevent anyone from ever doing this to people again."

"Steve," Peggy whispered evenly, her voice growing rough. Her brown eyes held the dullness of a lost soul. Still, her mind fought to unravel the unbidden truth that reflected in his clear azure eyes; his gaze steady and filled with uncertainty. More tears spilled over her gaunt cheeks, and she stared off into space; slowly drifting back into the laden state of her sickness.

Although, her fiery spirit wanted to protest, she couldn't escape from the heavy fog that encased her memories. She felt powerless. Reaching for his face, she absorbed the warmth of his flushed skin; she regained just the right amount of clarity to stare back into his watery blue eyes, filled with deterioration of pain and unease entrapped beyond his gentle stare.

Feeling his ebbing tears dripping over her shaking her, Peggy mustered up a pitch of breath watching his glazed eyes degenerating into a plea of desperation. "I know that you'll beat the dodge...You mustn't doubt yourself on the mission." she said in a low, grating voice. "I want you to find your strength and remember that what you carry inside can be the greatest weapon to use in the direst of our battles, Steve."

"I will, Peggy," Steve assured, clasping her hand, and tracing her fingers with repetitive motion. "I will never forget."

"You better not, Captain," she returned with a raspy breath, and stroked his soft lips with her thumb; feeling the stabbing of tears growing constant behind her eyes."When you find Barnes again,"she paused in her words, staring back into his pained blue eyes. "...tell him that he has a place on the wall of valor."

Steve felt his eyes mist over with tears, and he swallowed a lump of hesitance in his throat before nodding his assent. In his heart, he had always known that Bucky was worthy of such honor, but to hear someone else say it, especially one close to him, make Steve feel even better about the situation. He could be sure that he wasn't deluding his image of Bucky; his cause was just through and through.

Leaning forward with increased torrents of momentum, he followed her gaze as anchor, Steve gave Peggy a tentative kiss of farewell on her sunken lips. It was a kiss made out of love, and yet it was not wholly romantic in nature, for love goes deeper than feelings. As the idyllic fantasy of them -dancing- on a dock boards leading to a lighthouse with a fading sunset reflecting in the calm waters.

Each image reemerged from his bottled desires, Steve sealed his lids shut, feeling her breath carrying him away from the darkness. It was their hidden world. Losing traction from his subconsciousness and feeling her fading back into a slumber, he pulled away, brushed aside loose strands of her silver hair, and then as he stood up straight, he managed a smile down at her.

"I will fight for us, Peggy..." Steve declared with one of his heart-stopping grins, as he listened to her strained breathing cut into the silence. "We'll have our dance and this time I won't be late." he promised, clambering away from the beside. He closed the door, feeling the warmth of her kiss reside in his heart.

* * *

A/N: I want to thank my wonderful co writer who keeps on surprising me everyday with her talent.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

* * *

"I can't live like this anymore..." Bucky dejected out an engaged growl, uncertainly stirring in his pale blue eyes. It felt the surges of intermixed emotions rattling through his heart; everything was twining in his veins as he sunk his retracting silver claws into a snow bank outside a looming apartment. He looked painfully muddled. "I use to think that my life belonged to someone else..." he trailed away, feeling his heart plummeting sporadically against his chest.

His emotions were on the edge of a breaking point and senses made him attuned to everything surrounding him, the soft drizzle of crystallized rain pelting against glass windows from the building obstructing his view from the train tracks, to the rotten stench of trash heaps in a far corner of a darken alley. It felt intense and unnatural, almost similar to how he first felt the prick of the needle filling his veins with the compounds of the alpha X serum (hybrid of Doctor Erskine's life's work) which transformed him into a capable, enhanced and impassive killing machine with no conscience to feel or react to the immense throes of pain_—guilt._

Dim glints of streetlight tarnished over his ebony fur; bile was threatening to encompass his throat when he spared a glance at Anna nestling the kittens inside a rotten cardboard box. "How did you survive in this stupid cat body?" he asked, with bite of spite ragging in his throaty voice, disbelief was present.

"It was never fun," Anna answered soberly, licking clean the female kitten's tiny face. "And it was never easy, either. But I guess I just always had to keep on surviving. It's like I still have something to do with myself before my time is up. I don't know; I don't understand it myself. But I just adapted, learned what worked, and tried not to think about the situation too much."

Bucky felt a cold shiver of resentment crawl through his bones and his fur seared cold with a haunting sensation of pain. His eyes sealed shut as he tried to deny what feelings his heart pounded against. He never wanted Anna to suffer like he did for almost a decade. He had been subjected to the mindless desensitization programming and being thrown back into the isolation chambers were the darkness and ice always greeted him. There were a few moments of weakness when he surrendered to a fate without human touch and stirrings of warmth. He wanted to give her a chance for grasping freedom as if she deserved it nine lives over. They only had one life and a small fraction of his condemned soul desired that to become reality. He opened his eyes again, and was faced with the same betraying nightmare simmered in her aurous eyes. He became rigid as they stared into each other's spectral gazes of misery.

"Anna, I never meant—"

"I know, James," she interrupted, breaking eye contact and instead looking at the ground. "I don't want to think about that-about the past. We've both borne more than our share of hardship, it seems. But I just want to get out of this miserable curse and out of HYDRA's webs altogether. I need to get out."

Tears filled her eyes and her heart felt swollen with so many lost hopes. The fingers of darkness that had long ago grabbed her soul in their grip had squeezed her to the breaking point, and she wasn't sure how long she could go on. She had to find hope and light again, and James seemed the only possibility for that. She dared to look back into his eyes searching for a chance of escape.

Bucky watched the kittens nuzzling their noses against her frontal paws, his gaze unwavering and crestfallen until the audible noise of distress unclogged from her throat drew his attention. He moved closer, methodical and cautious to the ratty box and watched worriedly as Anna blanched away from his approaching shadow.

He didn't make an effort to implore her to come out, he merely leaned his face against the cardboard edge, staring at her with his obscured blue eyes and his muzzle tight. He swallowed, feeling disturbances of writhing agony unfold against his serious intent. "You're not alone in this fight anymore." he spoke in a gruff and strained voice, and yet words remained stuck against the rawness of his throat. "If I had known what they did you beautiful, nothing would of stopped this Brooklyn kid from getting you out." He felt the bitterness flow in torrents in the hollowness of his chest. "We have to keep on fighting. That's all we can do...Kotenok."

"But how do we fight, James?" asked Anna, desperation easily seen in her shaky voice. "Tell me how we can possibly win; how can we complete this mission?"

"We do the best that we can," Bucky said quietly, staring back at her with a dismal look. "I think we'll make it out alive. You gotta have faith...Well at least that's what Steve told me back in the day."

"The same Steve we're trying to find?" asked Anna, still unconvinced. "I will be more apt to put stock in some of his faith when I can see him for myself. We've got to accomplish something, James. If it's our objective to find your friend, then lets find him." She let out a sigh of regret. "I have spent years wandering around without a purpose. I want to us to do something actively to fight the curse; I want to have something to focus my mind and energy on. Tell me what we are doing right now, James. How will any of this help us? she demanded.

"I've put my life in Steve's hands on the battlefield. I'm not giving up on him, Anna," he hissed out a response, low and grating; squaring his muzzle as he averted his troubled gaze. Unbeknownst to her warring distress, he retracted his metal claws and scraped the digits over the exposed cement and sealed his eyes shut for a long and agonizing moment. He tried to decrease the sense of resistance to believe in false hope whirling in his emptied stomach.

"We can't give up...Not when there's a chance for us to finally escape from HYDRA once and for all," he downheartedly added, and he rove his searing blue eyes on her. "I know you're in pain and unsure if we can break the curse...But you have to trust me just like you did as my partner."

"I do trust you, James," Anna quickly affirmed, "...but when we were partners, I understood exactly what we were doing. What is our objective right now, after we drop off the kittens, I mean. How do you expect us to find your friend?"

Bucky regarded her with a distant longing stare, feeling the reserves of his patience receding as rawness began to coil in his throat. "Steve won't be hard to track down. I can pick up his scent when we move out in the morning...Although the punk will probably smell like a wet mutt." He tried to evoke a sense of hope to ease her back into waves of contentment, while he intently watched her batting away stinging tears that glossed over her reflective irises. "I need you to calm down," he uttered, stalking inside the box and blocking her path, his paw offered a gentle caress as his padded digits stroke over her side. "Just focus on me..."

Anna's flesh rejected that idea, but she knew he was right, and she had to let her pride and fear dissipate. Back when they completed missions together, such emotions had always been avoided since they could result in large errors. Now was no different, except their current mission was one to free themselves, not to cause more death and pain. Anna let out a reluctant sigh and met James' gaze.

"Okay," she slowly breathed in submission. "How much further do you think we need to travel to drop off the little ones?" she asked in a much more docile tone. "Will they be secure tomorrow?"

"Yes," he affirmed with ire in his voice, detaching his paw from Anna's fur. His concern filled his stark blue eyes searched that of his love. "You've-" he hesitated and stared down at a visible sign of abuse. He hadn't registered it before. A patch of ebony fur exposed marred scar in the nook of her right front leg. "You're injured, how long have you been hiding this from me?" Bucky narrowed his eyes, feeling his throat close up, and he froze in disbelief. Breath rasped in his chest as he settled his gaze back at her face. A vague sense of unease seemed to crash against his slender form. "Anna, tell me what happened?" he asked, his tone becoming harden with dire.

Anna averted her eyes and took a step back, facing the opposite direction. "It's nothing," she insisted, sitting down and licking her paw nonchalantly. "Just a scratch I got on some glass from a broken window. It's fine; really. Has it stopped me from performing acceptably?"

In truth, the wound was quite a deep cut, but Anna did not want to allow the weakness to hinder her, so she had kept silent about it. Yet the cut did ache, especially after a long day of travel. She had hoped that James wouldn't notice, but she supposed his eye was too attuned to detail to miss it. Despite the discomfort, she knew she could not let her partner slow down on her account; she would rather bear the pain of a wound than continue in this feline body one minute longer than was necessary.

"Anna, talk normal to me. You're not a part of that world anymore." Bucky released a ragged sigh, he involuntarily stepped closer, keeping his distance tensely as she lowered down into submissive position and allowed the kittens to curl against her.

A painful hitch of breath kinked in his chest as he searched for his resolve in the shadows, wondering if he deserved her.

He imagined her standing on the old dock of Brooklyn's harbor, lithe body dressed in a pure white dress, and long mahogany ringlets framed her beautiful face. She was smiling, bright and full of life and waiting for him to take her home. "Do you mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice breathy, and his blue eyes piercing in the shadows.

"No," she answered after slight hesitation, scooting over to make room for James to enter the tattered box. "We should all get some rest." As much as the situation strained her nerves, she truly ached to be near to James, to feel the security that his presences always brought to her. And now more than when she had fallen for him, his eyes brought her a sense of peace. As long as she was with him, it truly did seem like she could make it through anything, even the curse that constantly pained her body and soul.

Sensing her measures of distress, Bucky felt his stomach clenched with rupturing cacophony of discontentment. With enough reserves of effort, he lowered down at the fraction of a second she lifted her head, and they suddenly felt the heat, their muzzles touched and were adjoining he was twitching nose so close, that he fought against the enthralling yearning, and caressed her face with a benign lick. He wanted to kiss her. Feel the lavish expanse of her lips move with the unbroken candance that matched the feral pulses of his hastening heart.

Bucky felt the aching sense of detachment,undeviating bite of the algific chasms of HYDRA and longing to skein his human hand through her silky brown hair. Instead of pulling away, he kept his mouth shadowing over her face. Coaxing to fully embrace her lips with his own.

Anna closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in the pleasure of being so near to James. But at the same time, she knew that it only stirred up desire for something that must wait, something that could not now occur. She moved her head forward and rubbed her cheek against James' face, and when he had settled down in the box, she rested her chin on his strong, warm shoulder. Her eyes eased closed, and she let her worries fade away as she took in the simple joy of being close to James.

In a tentative motion of his head, Bucky carefully nudged her with a measure of reassurance that freedom was close to grasp.

* * *

Steve let out a ragged breath and rubbed his temples to clear his foggy vision. His gloved hands felt strange on his face, as if he had temporarily forgotten he was in uniform. It did feel good to be dressed for action again, but that hardly erased the pain and worry that both had free reign of his members. Fear, with its icy fingers, had taken up residence in his mind and gut; every moment the curse progressed and taunted his thoughts. To mix with the cold anxiety, hot fever raced through Steve's veins, and sweat beaded on his brow. It had been a long time since he was sick-the serum had insured perfect healthy-but Steve knew that this was more oppressive and draining than almost anything he'd endured before. And that was only the physical aspect.

Steve tried to shove these hindering evils from his mind by treating this like any standard mission. He took another visual scan of his surrounds, noticing all the small details he could. He was currently in an old warehouse basement with large, wooden crates on all sides. The lighting was poor; only small windows near the top of the walls, giving a view of the dirty streets outside, provided any possibility of sight. The concrete floor was rough and cluttered. The air was dank and dead. It was an unpleasant place.

But Steve knew that if his sources were correct, this warehouse must house a HYDRA base somewhere. He supposed it would be a secret door or hidden room, but down here, he had not seen any such signs, and Sam had yet to report anything out of the ordinary on the ground floor. Had the base been deserted or destroyed long ago?

Steve felt his mind drifting again, and he knew he couldn't afford that, so he raised his wrist and radioed Sam.

"Sam, how do things look up there? Any luck?"

Darkness was a soldier's ally. Sam was crouched down near a cement ledge of the building adjacent; scanning the ominous, barren expanse of buildings caressed by muted streetlight with a pair night vision binoculars, his vision was transfixed in the phosphorescent haze of intensified green, his right eye was leveled with the objective lens as he release a calm breath emitting from his lungs. The frigid air was heavy and there was staleness of car exhaust permeating the vantage. He'd been up there for nearly an hour since they infiltrate a dock warehouse a few miles back. The dossier on Baron Strucker's latest experiments revealed cruel methods of subjection involving domestic animal captives and the evidence had been destroyed-innocent lives were dispatched and the remnants of the small massacres lingered in the vacant cages. Sam felt the desperation prickling in his veins, the allegiance to take a stand with Captain Rogers and fight for humanity's freedom. Apparently, that crushed a lot of weight over his heart.

Listening to the measure of strain in Steve's low voice intercept through the wrist com, "Negative, Cap," Sam stressed, before taking a cautious glance with his dark eyes,locked on the brownstone complex across from his perch. "There hasn't been no visible sign of movement. Whoever we're hunting, I get the feeling doesn't want to be down." He lowered the binoculars and exhaled a sigh of disbelief. "I think we've reached another dead end."

Steve felt frustration boil in his mind, but it wasn't directed at Sam. It was anger at the fact that every second he didn't find what he was looking for was another second trapped in the curse, both himself and Bucky. And if he didn't discover a way to defeat it soon, then he might end up missing the window altogether. Each minute brought more pain and a harder battle; wasted time, even if it didn't mean outright defeat, at least condemned Steve to further torture as he slaved on against this terrible foe.

"Let's double check, just to make sure this place is really deserted," Steve told Sam after a moment of thought. "We'll meet in ten minutes at the exit. Radio in if you see anything; even a minute detail could be the difference between detection or concealment."

"Thanks for the heads up," Sam replied calmly. He took another glance over the street and noticed a narrow crevice in between two abandon buildings. Peering straight ahead there was a gleam of metal, but the crescents of darkness folded over every corner almost making it impossible to see further. "Hey, Cap," he added, looking a little dubious. "Got something outside of the building...I can't make it out though." He grimace, releasing another heavy intake of breath as he stared back into the binoculars searching for heat signatures.

"Do you have any idea what it is?" Steve asked, daring to hope that they might have stumbled onto a lead. "Should I come up?"

Sam inhaled the frigid air, if felt like ice was crystallizing in his lungs. A rapid passing of fear deluged in his veins when he turned the dial on the lens and steadied his gaze back on the alleyway. Time was dwindling and Steve was departing further into his accursed form. Sam wasn't giving up, of course. Not even if his friend and the wellborn compass of the Avengers spent the rest of his life was a canine-he would still of benevolent,unyielding and confiding heart of Steve Rogers-Captain America. His father told him at a young age, that to measure man is not by his size, but the magnitude that lies in his heart.

Venting out a calm breath, Sam had detain his scrutiny on a sheen of metal in the obscurity behind a dumpster. It was a cage. "Hey Cap," he countered through the wrist come. "You should definitely come up. There is a cage and from where I'm standing, it's not vacant."

Steve's mind flooded with concern as a hundred possibilities flew through his head. Whatever or whoever was in the cage might be able to tell them something about what HYDRA was up to, whether with words or just by its condition. And even if that wasn't the case, it was very likely something in need of help. Unless it was all just a trap.

"I'm on my way," he told Sam, marching to the stairs that led out of the basement. "Do you see anything that would indicate hostility?" he asked, mounting the staircase and quickly walking up, skipping over a step with each stride.

"Negative," Sam addressed, as he looked through the infrared lens. He noticed a range of thermal patterns of a small body-there was a possibly it was a child. "I have a trace of a heat signature." he breathed out an grim sigh, before adding, "I think whatever is in the cage is small..."

Steve's heart skipped a beat as he wondered if it could be Bucky, still trapped in his cat form. That was unlikely, but Steve still felt himself drawn to the cage, as if he was sorely needed there as quickly as possible. He picked up this pace even more, hurrying towards his goal.

"Which side of the building are you on?" he asked Sam, pushing through the door at the top of the staircase and glancing around as his eyes adjusted to the light and his body adjusted to the cold. "I've just come out onto the ground floor near the front side, facing the street."

Carefully keeping himself observant over the narrow crevice that resembled an alley, Sam listened to a vague stir of distress, it was audible enough for him to detect a faint whimper. Muted orange light reflected over the windows, giving him a fairly decent view of the extraction point, as he lowered his equipment, and settled his brown eyes on the cage.

"Use caution, Steve," he advised the super- soldier in a low breath. "From my vantage...The captive appears to resemble a child..." his voice fell away, as his knuckles tightened under his balled glove. He hated when innocent children became victims of a crime. He was prepared to fight against the injustice that reeked over the streets, and that forced people to turn a blind eye on the unspoken horrors which resided in the darkness.

Steve felt his hair stand on end. "I'm almost there," he said, jogging in the direction he deemed quickest. He rounded the building and came to a darker section of street with a small enclave, and soon he spotted Sam. His companion was looking into the alley way, and Steve hurried to his friend's location. Skidding to a halt and breathing out a white cloud of air into the frosty night, he followed Sam's line of sight.

"Should we move in?" he asked, always ready to weigh his own ideas against the experience of his friend.

Sam felt his heart jolt against his chest. A wave of coldness permeated over every reachable surface, the temperature was dropping as faint wisps of snow licked over his tight jaw. It was a tough call to make-Steve's life could be on the line if he stepped closer into the lucid and vivid memories of watching Riley's body drop into the desert sand racked against the recesses of his mind, he was paralyzed and hesitant with indecision. A child's life -any _life_ was vital and he couldn't be selfish and hold back Steve from saving the captive. When he tried to blot out those recurring memories, he answered back, unknowingly, "It's your call, Cap."

Steve considered the situation for a moment, but the choice was clear to him; they could not leave this creature-human or otherwise-in the dominion of HYDRA like this. "I'll go first; you follow a few paces behind and cover me," Steve instructed as he gripped his shield tighter in his fingers. "Alert me at the slightest sign of movement from anywhere else. If I were a HYDRA operative, I wouldn't leave evidence just lying around unless I had another purpose."

Steve began cautiously edging his way forward, entering the alleyway with his shield before him, trying not to let his eyes linger on the rust that still ran on the vibranium's smooth surface. He could see the cage now; it was placed beside several old garbage cans and other containers. The area looked to have been disturbed recently, like more containers had once been there but were now gone. Perhaps HYDRA agents had evacuated in a hurry and forgotten this last cage. Forgotten or left; Steve didn't know which was more likely.

When he was within a few yards of the container, Steve was able to see through its bars. Insider, curled into a small, shaking ball, was a child. By it's long, blonde hair and thin figure, Steve guessed it to be a young girl. She had on only a ragged dress, and her limbs were dangerously malnourished. She did not turn to look at Steve; indeed, her silent crying seemed to make her oblivious to all else.

Steve's heart threatened to rip out of his chest, his throat burned, and his soul thrashed within him as he took in the full extent of the evil that was before him. This small, innocent child had suffered what no human should endure. And so young, so pure! She was like a flower bud still too shy to open. Yet HDYRA had plucked her from the branch and trod her underfoot.

"Hey," Steve said gently, surveying the cage one last time to assure that it was safe to approach. He then closed the distance between himself and the container and knelt beside it. "Little one," he said in the same soothing voice, "..are you ready to come out?"

The small child stopped her sobbing and slowly turned around. She started back for a moment, but clearly she realized that Steve was different from those who had captured her. She looked at him with eyes shining full of tears, too crushed to dare to hope. Steve again felt his inner anguish threaten to boil over, but he shoved it aside in favor of action. Getting a good grip on the front of the cage, which undoubtedly required a key to be opened, Steve wrenched the metal plate straight of its hinges, tossing it away when it was free.

"Come out, sweetheart," he whispered, coaxing the girl out. "You're going to be safe now; I won't let anyone hurt you."

The little blue eyes looked at him in confusion, but there was understanding behind them, and the trust of a child. The girl extended her small, fragile hand and grasped Steve's arm, steadying herself. Then she crawled out of the opening, collapsing into Steve's chest. This seemed to release the flood, and she sobbed uncontrollably into Steve's strong, warm shoulder, pulling him closer with all her might so that she would never be lost. The super-soldier rubbed his hand on her back to warm her shivering body, pulling her tightly to himself. He positioned his arms to bear her miniscule weight and stood up, still lightly stroking her light hair with his free hand. Then he turned and began walking back towards Sam, who stood watching the scene from a few yards off.

"She needs warmth and medical attention immediately," he advised his companion. "There's nothing else here; let's go."

Sam nodded, wordlessly. He wasted to time, and quickly unzipped his winter jacket, swathing it over the trembling child buried in the next of Steve's solid arms. "She needs to come with us," he dismissed, looking into Steve's harden azure eyes as he stared down tenderly at the little girl. "If HYDRA had her for a reason, she might have been experimented on...It's just an assumption...We need to keep her under our watch."

The thought of what this child had undergone made Steve's stomach turn, but he shoved the images from his mind and nodded in response to Sam's comment. "You're right," he agreed. "Let's get her something to eat and a warm bed, and then we can decide exactly what to do. Is it alright if we crash at your place again? I hope all this isn't too much of a problem; I feel like I've asked so much of you already."

Sam shook head his dismissively, "Dude, you need my help." He grasped Steve's shoulder, reassuringly. "I'm more than happy to offer my place to you, Steve."

Steve smiled with thanks and dipped his head slightly. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate it, Sam," he said with genuine gratitude. Then, with a glance at the shaking child in his arms, his expression became more resolute. "We should get her out of this weather as soon as possible," he observed before turning and heading down the road with strong, fast strides. His arms wrapped around the girl's back, transferring as much warmth as he could into her cold body. "Don't you worry," Steve quietly told her. "It's all going to be okay in just a minute. I'll make sure you stay safe."

Sighing out a heavy breath of relief, Sam turned around in the second a beam of red hit Steve's shoulder. His eyes widened, and veered his gaze back to the super-soldier, keeping his emotions moderately calm as his blood suddenly, doused with chilling panic.

"Steve," he roared, voice straining with dread. "Get down!"

The words had hardly reached Steve's ears before his instincts kicked in. Immediately, the super-soldier pulled the child close and protectively wrapped his arms around her, dropping into a kneeling position with his back facing the direction in which he presumed the danger to lie. He had no time even to move for cover before the sound of a gun going off split the air.

_A/N: A huge thank you to my talented co-writer and JuliaAurelia._


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

Blood. There was maroon seeping from the peak of Steve's compromised shoulder. The world unfurled into a blur. Feeling his heart pound with irregular beats, Sam raced towards the fallen solider. His emotions were running fierce in his veins as he skidded to his knees where Steve had dropped on the ground. He dared a glance at the little girl still secured under Steve's broad arm, and his brown eyes enlarged.

"Steve...Steve. Can you hear me? Oh man, I'm going to get you out of here, Cap." He clutched his fist over the sodden dark blue material of the uniform, holding onto Steve in those mere seconds all his reserves of strength became absent in his system.

Steve's world seemed to have lost all focus and dimension, and he almost forgot where he was and what was happening. He hardly registered pain for the first few seconds; just shock and something being off with his body. But his instincts kept the little girl tucked safely in his arms, and as his mind flickered back to awareness, he began to register the situation. The blood. The pain. The danger.

"Get out of here, Sam," he said in a gasp, trying to push himself off the concrete, but unable to fight through the fogginess that was settling on his limbs. "Take her," he coughed, tasting the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. "You have to...keep her safe..." Black specks began invading his vision, but he shook them away and again attempted to stand. "Go," he ground out, grabbing Sam's hand tightly in his own and pushing the child towards his friend's arms.

Sam veered his gaze at the rooftop. He scanned over the darkness as he caught a gleam of silver. Grimacing, he clenched his jaw against the harsh gust of cold, feeling his heart sank for momentarily lapse of distress. He summoned enough strength and fixed his stare at Steve's watering blue eyes. "I can carry you out, Steve, but you need to become the dog again..." He urged, with a calm breath. He discarded the helmet quickly off Steve's pallid and slackened face. "It's the only I can get you and her out of there."

The words sounded slurred to Steve's ears, but he was able to understand what Sam said and know that he ought to follow through. A tiny thought appeared in his mind about what on earth the child would do when she saw him become an animal, but he knew that there was no time to be worried about that. Closing his eyes so that he could concentrate, he put all of his mental energy into tearing down his barriers against the curse.

It turned out to be fairly easy to let the transformation take over his mind; it had been waiting for an opportunity to spring for some time. The pain in Steve's shoulder multiplied many times over as his muscles and bones tore themselves apart and then realigned themselves into a canine form. A groan of agony escaped his swollen lips, and he clenched his growing teeth, recessing against the onslaught of pain. He slammed his eyes shut, feeling the darkness of the curse merge into his decreasing bone structure. Golden-cream fur poked from his clammy skin and coated his muscles with thickening layers of a pelt. His fingers had glued together and contorted into paws. The chiseled definition of his broad jaw extended into a long muzzle. The visages of changes increased, until finally his body had become that of a dog.

Opening his blearily eyes again, Steve regained enough clarity and saw Sam hovering over him.

"Steve," Sam said, breathlessly, looking down at the golden husky. His hand caressed over the animal's wounded shoulder, palm rested on the marred flesh. He pressed his gently, preventing the torrents of blood from expelling from the punctured limb. He can't fathom the transformed soldier's emotions; but Sam knew that Steve had to hold it together, even if his soul was fraying underneath the vessel of fur.

When he traced his shaky fingers over the 9 mm slug embedded into Steve's muscle, the dog yelped a little in pain. "It's okay," Sam reassured calmly. "The bullet's in pretty deep...It can't be extracted without proper medical tools. We need to call-"

"Not important right now," Steve interrupted, speaking through heaving breaths. "It's fine. Just get her out of here. He nudged Sam's hand with his muzzle. "Hurry."

The pain now clouded Steve's vision so that nothing was clear, though shapes were still visible. He saw Sam's face, but could not make out its expression. Despite his friend's composed tone, Steve was afraid of what would happen if they stayed any longer in the view of the sniper. Surely the danger of this moment was still very high. Knowing that Sam might need some help, Steve revolted against everything his body wanted, shifting into a lying position. From there, his shaky legs raised him a few inches off the concrete, just long enough for Sam to get a hold of him.

Feeling knot of languish rise in his chest, Sam carefully slid his hands underneath the dog's weight. Steve whimpered at the sudden burst of amplified pain shooting from his injured limb. His paw flipped up and touched Sam's forearm. The little girl looped her scrawny arms around his neck, latching herself against his shoulders. Steve's canine body sagged against his chest as he rested his tensed muzzle onto the torn sleeve of Sam's jacket.

"Hang on, Steve," Sam implored with monotonous voice, his eyes downcast and met the dimming ice blue eyes of his accursed friend. The stealth uniform was raveled over the trembling limbs and the helmet was at his boots. He carried the degraded form of America's ultimate soldier in the nest of his arms. Clutching Steve close, he ambled swiftly out of the alley, disappearing in the murkiness of street, pacing down a sidewalk and moving towards the parked truck in front of him. "I've got you." he promised.

The wound's throbbing nearly caused Steve to lose consciousness, but he blinked repeatedly and tried to concentrate on breathing. He could feel his own rapid and laboring heartbeat thumbing loudly in his ears, and he wondered how much blood it was pumping out of his shoulder. The unnatural weariness on Steve's body and mind told him that he'd already lost a lot of his blood, and he needed something to stanch the bullet hole soon. But the car was very close; hopefully help was close, too.

"We're almost there, Steve," Sam panted out a heavy breath, dashing closer to the back parking lot. His dark eyes focused on his metallic blue truck ahead. "Just a few more-"

"Wait," Steve gasped, suddenly detecting that something was wrong. At first, he couldn't understand why he was hesitant, but then he remembered that his instincts, though bogged down by his injuries, were still much more keen in his canine form. For reasons he couldn't articulate, he simply knew that Sam should not approach the vehicle.

"Something's off," he said gruffly, coughing to clear his throat. "Something's not right."

Sam halted in his steps. He narrowed his eyes narrowed at the transformed super-soldier. The dog seemed perplexed. His ears perked up, apparently, the serum granted him enhanced hearing, Steve detected a threatening frequency outside the normal range.

"Okay," Sam drew out a frustrated breath; his eyes locked onto the truck in front of him. It was a judgement call. "The way I see it, we have to options: we can move a few inches closer to the truck or use one of these buildings as a safe house. Either way, we're struck in the danger zone, Steve."

Steve considered what Sam told him, even though thinking concisely seemed to have suddenly become a daunting task. He decided in the end to go with his gut, and his instincts were telling him to avoid the car at all costs.

"Let's use the buildings," he rasped, seething through his incisors. His muzzle crinkled into a weak grimace, and his ice blue eyes zoned in and on the vacant pickup. "The truck's not safe, Sam." he warned, gravelly. A painful stillness in his limb run though his smaller body.

One moment the air was dense. The next, a lapse of fear overtook him. Sam didn't even have to time for opting onto the Captain's words, rather than his own thoughts; before the whole parking lot became engulf from by a deafening rumble of imminent detonation. He squinted as his vision blurred, against the intense firestorm. He was on a brink of having a panic attack, blood pulsing at a rapid pace; he could feel the aftershocks of the explosion vibrating in the soles of his boots.

The frantic tempo of his heart ceased for a mere second, as his brown eyes enlarged with full blown horror, in reaction to the chaotic funnels of flames and smoke, Sam involuntarily jerked a step back. His one hand supported underneath Steve's furred belly, while the other reflexively caressed over the leaden child's arm.

She was in utter shock and trembling against the planes of his back as all of them watched the door being torn off their hinges and thrown against the cement wall; the hood skyrocketed and flipped into the air. And then, a massive cloud of inferno devoured everything into cyclone of smoldering heat. The vehicle had literally melted away as roaring flames consumed every piece of the charred frame.

Sucking in a deep breath, he sagged a little, noncommittally, "So I guess we're walking from here..."

Steve felt his strength sap out of his bones like water being squeezed from a sponge. His ears rung from the volume of the explosion, and his eyes had the image of fire burned black onto their retinas. His wound throbbed and spread hot pain throughout his entire torso. The curse tried to take advantage of his weakness and pushed itself forward in his mind, making it nearly impossible to think. As Sam turned to find an alternate route of escape, Steve felt his resolve stumble, like a weary traveler. Finally, he could fight the pain no more, and he let himself fall into the darkness of unconsciousness.

"Steve..."

* * *

The air felt thick and heavy as Steve's eyes flickered open. He had expected to find himself with Sam and the little girl, but despite pain burning all over his body, his shoulder was not wounded as it had been when he passed out. He found himself lying flat on a dirty concrete sidewalk, feeling like he had just gone through a meat grinder yet without any visible injuries.

Groaning as he tried to stand up, Steve noticed that he was no longer in his canine form. His mind was fuzzy and even depth perception and objects seemed distorted around him. When at last his limbs pushed him off the ground and he stood to his feet, he got a real glimpse of what was around him, and it gave him no comfort.

He must be in New York; he could see the waters of the Upper Bay from between two buildings on his left. Walking closer to the window of sight, Steve realized that the whole city was silent. There were no people on the roads and no cars driving by. But the silence was not one of peace, but rather of fear, as prey is quiet before its watchful predator. Steve felt like he was being watched, but since he saw no one, he had few options except to continue forward.

When he passed between the buildings and possessed an unobstructed view of the Upper Bay, Steve suddenly realized that what he was seeing was a completely controlled environment. A crude barbed-wire fence bared the way to the water's edge. Tall, metal towers with camera's on their summits glared down at every corner of the shoreline. The great Statue of Liberty, which had stood for freedom, looked to be the last thing in the area that was not in chains. But even from Steve's far away location, he could see the machines of deconstruction around the statue. It was being taken down.

Steve's soul violently twisted at the horrors before him. It was as if all of his nightmares and enemies had come together in one terrible sight, and in a moment of pure panic, he turned to face the street again and ran, hoping to find someone-anyone-who could tell him what was going on and how he could stop it.

As he aimlessly trudged passed the obstruction of vehicles; Steve stole a brief glance at his visage in planes of cracked glass of an vacant storefront window. For a moment or two, he fixed his dismal blue eyes on the illusion of haggard face of defeated soldier, a confused soul looking for answers.

...Truth...

He looked damaged, the chiseled lines of his broad jaw, swathed with beard that grew halfway above his Adam's apple and his blonde hair was cropped with a spearheaded point at the hairline. All defiance that once burn into the swirls of his clear azure eyes was dimmed and the color of his skin displayed no vibrancy, just ashen with remnants of bruises. He had changed, devolved into drifter of time. He was no longer Captain America, but forgotten soldier who had lost the will to fight.

Looking down, he noticed that he was wearing an old, tattered bomber jacket, something caught his eye. A red sash was tied over his left was the color of the German High Command, the symbol of enslavement. There was tacky blood smeared over his jacket and blossoming through the thin layer of his undershirt. Horrified, at the lurid sight, Steve faltered a step back; struggling to regain his memories. Panting out heaving breath, he scanned the desolated area, his eyes filled with tears as pain assailed through his veins. He wanted to crash to his knees, and unleash raw screams into the bleak air. "What happened to our freedom?" he growled, brokenly.

"The world has changed, my darling," Hearing the familiar, rich English voice. Steve whipped his head around to direction of wistful hope that cradled into his wary soul, and stared at her, his Peggy Carter standing in front of a burning oil drum.

She was different, not an old woman, but utterly restored with beauty and fire as he remembered. His ladylove, wore a lifeless semblance that daunted him, her chocolate eyes held no warmth just darkness of corrupted willpower. Silky brown ringlets were pinned into a tight bun, and her complexion pale from the lack of sunlight.

When he took in her full appearance, his heart plummeted into his churning stomach. A leather uniform covered her lithe and curvaceous body, it was pure black, with imprinted symbols of HYDRA on the left side of her chest, almost reminding him of the insignia of the _Schutzstaffe._

Shaking his head in disbelief, Steve felt his jaw drop, and tears slope down his cheeks. Peggy remain uprooted, her eyes cold and deaden, almost like she had been drained from emotion. The fullness of her red lips was fastened neutral line of obedience-she looked soulless. "...we can never go back home, Steve."

Her robotic tone was unnerving, especially considering the magnitude of her statement. Steve hardly felt like this woman wasn't Peggy at all; she lacked all that he had fallen for. Now she was only a shell-no longer Peggy Carter and no longer human. Steve looked into her cold gaze and tried to see in her eyes any spark of the woman he knew and loved. He could not.

"That may be," he said at last, his voice cracked and broken. Hanging his head in grief, he sighed and wondered if it was even worth it to fight, but seeing his own vague shadow on the concrete before him, a tiny bit of memory and fire ignited in his heart. He was still Captain America, even if nothing else was left to stand for freedom in the world. "You might be right, but I refuse to accept this."

Peggy glared him emptily, her gloved hand brandished against the pistol attached to thigh hostler strap. "How dare to oppose the words of HYDRA," she growled, locking her dark eyes onto his firm chest. "This is our new order...There is no weakness or defiance against the Imperium Skull. All defilers have perished into the ashes of old world. Those that have survived no longer wear their humanity."

"If we reject humanity," Steve said, now finding it nearly impossible to look Peggy in the eye, "...what's the point of survival?"

Feeling a distribution in her altered mind, Peggy aimed the nozzle of the gun directly at him, finger was poised on the trigger. "There is no point of living. We are legion to the Skull. Our human existence is his will, and if you defy that order then death will claim you."

A small, out of place smile appeared on Steve's lips, and he spread his hands outward and spoke with absolute conviction, wondering what results it would bring from a person who was beyond humanity. "So be it. Give me liberty, or give me death."

There was vague sense of familiarly that lanced inside Peggy's vacant heart when those words pierced through her altered programming. She was still at first; her knuckles grew rigid and gun absently lowered to her side. It was his voice...A strong and unyielding tone that forced her to blink upon recognition in that mere second; she felt a prickle of humanity return to her.

"Liberty?" she spoke lowly, trying to grasp onto the truth before her. "It was a word I used to recite when all hope seemed lost...When you weren't there."

"I'm sorry, Peggy," Steve said, his throat threatening to close as emotion swelled in his chest. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. But I can't fix that. All I can do is my best, and that means no compromise. No regrets. We can't let HYDRA do this; we have to fight for what we believe. Do you believe in liberty?"

Peggy's dark eyes ghosted over with tormented confusion and her face went blank as she dropped the gun to her boots. She choked out a ragged breath and blinked slowly, fighting to regain clarity in her distressed vision by the measure of humility in his calm voice. "I-I don't know what to believe in anymore," she blanched a step back, almost feeling off balance until Steve swooped her in the embrace of his arms. Breathing steadied, she gaze up at him, staring into his light blue eyes that held memory and trust: the eyes of humanity.

"Steve..."

"Yeah, Peggy; it's me," Steve answered in a soothing voice, holding Peggy's frame close to his own. That utterance of his name, though a single word, had been the breaking through. She had become a part of herself-her true self-again, the same girl he had fallen for in World War II. The closeness of the one he held most dear brought tears to his eyes, he felt he could have held her forever. "Believe in me," he said gently. "Believe in Captain America."

"They've taken so much from us there just empty..." Peggy screwed her lips up into a grimace, pressing them tight, trying to feel again so that she could have some hope to fight; but she knew it wasn't possible. She brought her hand to his bristled jawline, tracing her fingers underneath his lip. She eventfully focused into the stillness of his blue eyes, and tried to find a reason to put her faith back to the impossible. "Steve, we go back. Everyone we knew now belongs to HYDRA."

Steve's countenance fell, and he gripped Peggy's shoulders with his hands, firmly but without harming her. "Who?" he asked, his anxiety edging into his tone.

"The Soviet red haired spy named Natasha Romanova, Samuel Wilson, and..." Peggy uttered, sensing there was a raving storm growing inside his heart. Steve's voice carried a sense of urgency: she knew that Bucky was a part of the group of resistance and that his fate was sealed with the other captives who withheld defiance cause the new order of enslavement and dehumanization.

"James Barnes." she added, with heaviness and regret wavering in her shaky tone. "...Bucky is still alive, but he's not the same."

Steve felt his heart skip a beat, and he clenched his jaw as images of his friends filled his mind. Belonged to HYDRA? What could have happened to bring about such a horrendous result? "Where are they, Peggy?" he asked, his eyes full of concern.

Peggy's demeanor changed into a darkened expression. She narrowed her eyes, and drew out a dismal breath. "I'm sure that they all survived. If they did...The Skull would have put them into the Chamber. A underground prison located in the subway tunnels."

Steve didn't have to think about the new information very long before he knew what he needed to do. Looking into Peggy's brown eyes and searching for someone he could trust, he took a risk. "Peggy, can you take me there? I have to find them."

She crouched down and retrieved her gun. "It's not an easy to road to take, Steve," she returned with the gravity of solemn pain wavering in her voice. Her dark eyes cast over the sleek black metal of the pistol clutched in her hand; she tried not to regather her memories, and focused on the mission. When her gaze looked back up at him, and she stared into his benevolent azure eyes; Peggy saw the threads of his resilient soul being ripped to shreds and the weight of humanity piled on his shoulders. She straightened on her boots, and grasped his forearm. "I will take you there to find James Barnes."

Steve allowed a smile to ghost his face, he drew his hand lightly across Peggy's cheek, sighing quietly. This woman-the one who never shied away from danger for the sake of others-this was the Peggy he loved. "Thank you, Peggy," he said, with a soft dismal breath. Leaning forward, he gently kissed her forehead. "Let's go.

When Peggy felt the soft pressure of his warm lips coxed against her skin, the vicious jolt of regret tear into her heart. She recoiled back a step, evidently trying to grasp on the arise of emotions stirring in her veins. When his fingers brushed delicately over her clenched jaw, she nearly shuttered. "How do know that you can trust me, Steve?" she asked, dejecting out bitter words and kept her eyes narrowed at the gun.

The rages of thunder whacked against her chest, Peggy needed to regain some form of old existence-the indomitable fire that HYDRA failed to douse out. She needed to become his _best girl_ again.

"We're not the same people as we once were...This world is being destroyed piece by piece and humanity is at its weakening point of betraying the very name of freedom." With that, Peggy chanced a glare and focused her dark eyes steady onto his chiseled, bristled face, and his searing blue eyes held a clear promise and looked past the darkness of HYDRA with nothing but confidence, strength and the utmost of salvation. He was standing on his guard, preparing to march into battle. She swept her hand over his jacket, feeling the pulse of his strong heartbeat reminded her that Captain America wasn't giving up the fight and neither would Agent Carter. "We need a strategy Captain. We can't just raid enemy lines..."

"Alright; what do you suggest?" Steve asked, an absent smile tugging at his lips. "What do you know about this place?"

"We just need the basic layout of the foundation." She drew out a harsh breath, struggling to admit the truth to him. "What you must know is that I have been pretending to be under the Skull's bloody influence, a necessary method of deception to gain access to the main subway lines. So far, I have discovered three exit points that lead outside the city's barriers." She pulled out a crinkled piece of paper, and unfolded it, revealing a fading map. She edged her hand to his. "This was all I could manage to dig up from a lead enforcer. It's outline of the flood chambers."

"Where is the Chamber geographically?" Steve asked, glancing at the map in her hands. He was quickly becoming the Captain America who had led men into battle and worked through strategy, and it felt good. "If it's outside the city, then our main focus needs to be choosing one of those three exit lines and getting out through it. Which one is nearest to our position?"

Peggy's eyes dipped abashedly as her fingers swept over his rough knuckles, seeming impregnable to the pinch of agony in her chest. Releasing a calm sigh, she struck a glance back at his dim and candid features and nodded. "The drainage reservoir is only a few blocks down," she clarified, her fingers still clasped over his arm. "We need to move to quickly, Captain, before darkness hits the main streets. We have one chance."

"I'll follow you lead, ma'am," Steve answered, smiling a bit. As terrible as the situation was, this did feel good, to be the Captain America of the old days again.

* * *

The air thickened with stagnate water slipping through the rusted cracks of low sloped pipes against the grime covered walls. Steve felt his nose crinkle as the repulsive stench of decay entered his nostrils and wavered down his throat. He couldn't breathe for a moment; his boots sloshed through the puddles of murky water, and he trudged further into the darkened tunnel. His wandering blue eyes raked over heaps of trash flowing in the narrow wedge of cement; there were visible remnants of tattered clothing bundled in the piles of sodden newspapers, tarps and crushed soda cans. Evidence that people-or rather the condemned of HYDRA had once lived tunnels.

Steve, taking his eyes off his footsteps for a moment and fixing them on his guide a few feet away, made an inquiry. "How far do we need to travel in this tunnel?"

Sparing the distance between them, Peggy had managed to steal a glance at the super-soldier in the moment her heeled boots sloshed in the stream of murky water filled with scraps of trash. Curling her lips into a distasteful grimace, she took a deep breath, and collected herself. "Not much further, Steve," she spoke with a despairing edge in her monotone voice, feeling a flood of impulse omission surge in her veins.

With graceful motion, Peggy spun around, summoning her cool poise and defenses while holding his stare of intent blue eyes. There was no clearing from the tunnel, just a wall consisting of rusted metal gates. Her lip twitched, brown eyes dimmed as phantoms of regrets echoed in her mind. She tore her gaze away from him, holding onto the reserves of her unyielding stubbornness. "We need to breach the stairway. It's the only way we can follow the directional line to the drainage chamber."

Steve drew out a ragged breath, recalling a measure of forbearance against the harrowing situation. He glanced around observantly, sensing a strange chill wavering in the dense air. "Can you tell me if there will be any guards?" he inquired, setting his blue eyes on the gated crevice. He barreled his pace closer to her; however, the puddles underneath his boots gave away his position, as he stood at her side, and used his massive body as a shield upon reacting to the pinch of dread twisting in his gut. "We need to move, Peggy," he said softly, upon noticing at he was disarmed. "I don't seem to have my shield..." he trailed off, noticing the fact for the first time.

Peggy stared at him, listening to the uneasiness in his voice. "Is that you're logical way of engaging unknown enemy territory, Captain?" she raised an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. "I thought you carried more than just a shield in battle. You fought so many times without it..."

"Yeah, the shield definitely isn't the deal-breaker," Steve agreed, stepping over a pile of refuse and trying to get his mind out of the junky sewer, recalling memories of the battles that Peggy spoke of. "It sure is helpful, and there's nothing like it in the world. But you're right; I do carry more to a fight than just the shield, and more than any other weapon could provide." Steve put his hand out and gently touched Peggy's shoulder. "I take hope with me, too," he proclaimed. "Hope and determination, do you know who instilled those things into me better than almost anyone else?"

"Do enlighten me, Captain," Peggy said as her eyes settled on a tattered stuffed animal bear floating in the water around her spiked heels. It was obvious that the toy had once belonged to a child; most of the children were orphaned and sent to the camps to become dormant soldiers for the Red Skull's growing army.

Peggy had clung onto hope, coveting it and keeping it guarded from the erosion of the darkened souls. Hiding underneath a deceptive mask, it was necessary for survival and to gain access on the underground prisons. She had spent many of her years protecting lives, and leading a charge of resistance with Natasha Romanova and James Barnes-they were the last pieces of defiance for humanity. The bear represented everything that was lost; it was the only symbol of innocence that didn't get thrown into the ashes. She needed to grasp onto faith again...She needed to believe in the impossible by putting everything she had left to salvage in this grim world into his heart.

"You, Peggy," Steve answered sincerely, looking her in the eye. "You were the shield over my soul. I could never have done what I did without you at my side."

Peggy swallowed, in all those moments of allowing people to believe that she had been unscathed by the loss of him, she was actually burying her heart further into her iron layers, keeping herself guarded from illusions of her dreams spending a life with him. There was a desperate need to lean against his firm chest and melt into the broad expanse of his muscles that held so much power that it like swirls of relentless fire against her skin. It was until his words brushed a tentative recourse that kept her steady during the abiding moment of understanding what had been truly vital in her new life when she was granted a chance to live again.

"You have made it through without me, Steve," she whispered, holding back the tears. She gazed into his endearing blue eyes, so focused and still and yet lost within memories of pain. Carefully, she brought her hand up to his sweaty face, fingers traced over the sharpened edge of his bristled jaw. He never allowed his stare to resume back into the shadows; he was staring at her with undeniable love. "I know there is something deeper that keeps you laden from daring yourself to move to another point of direction."

"I suppose that there is," Steve agreed with a nod, his body never faltered. He was filled with confidence; poise and assurance that they would make it out alive. He slipped his finger through her brown curls, and stared into her downcast eyes with fire ablaze in her blue irises. Steve never had been one to dim out the truth. It was one of the greater qualities he had than most men of his time. "...but you were the one who showed me that truth. And even when you were not physically beside me, your face and memory always kept me going. Without his friends, Steve Rogers would never have become Captain America."

"I'm afraid the meaning of friendship as died out, Steve," Peggy managed to say, holding her lips into a tight grimace. There was pound of resistance racking against her heart; looking down at the stuffed bear, she recalled the distraught memories and images she had collected over a short time. "The world doesn't need another hero to save the day," she paused, forcing a great deal of effort to meet his tender, sure gaze. "...it needs a good soldier to carry on a fight when we have lost our strength to do it on our own. I don't know what is waiting for us in the chamber and if your friends are still alive, but I know that we will face it together, Captain."

Steve smiled and fought to keep his eyes dry. "Yeah, Peggy, we'll face it together, and I can be the good soldier you need me to be." Reaching for her hand, Steve caught hold of it and grasped it tightly, letting his warmth spread over her cold hand. "HYDRA still has a lot to reckon with," he added with a defiant tone and smile.

Peggy took a moment to reclaim her strength, even though she tried to prevent her heart was slipping into a free fall; tried to replace doubt with trust in that mere second she stole another glance at his blue eyes, shining against the tarnished light caressing over the square edge of his slacken jaw.

She begun to wonder if they had a small, evident chance of making out alive, but then again Peggy Carter was a survivor of two different lifetimes. "Then we best get a move on, Captain Rogers," she said, simply, interweaving her fingers against his knuckles. She called on reservations, holding back urges to indulge his lips with feverish contact. It wasn't the time to disarm her heart from all defenses. She had to remain focus on the mission. There would b another chance to have a dance with him. "Lead the way."

Before he let her hand slip out of his own, Steve pulled Peggy closer and embraced her in his strong arms, savoring the feeling of her closeness. He had longed to do this so many times, always with the despair in his mind that it could never happen. Now she was here, in his arms, still as beautiful as the day he had met her. Steve closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, never wanting to let this moment pass, never wanting to let Peggy go.

* * *

A/N: A huge thank- you goes out to my co -writer. She is the one who gives Steve his voice and keeps his soul, and also to, JuliaAurelia who inspires me with Steggy ideas and details. Enjoy and thank you.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

* * *

The next step was utterly the hardest to bear. Peggy felt her shoulder graze over grime coated bricks, upon noticing the archway of the passage; she calculated her disciplined strides with steady breath. The bleak air was growing thin, and there was crushing sense that the columns supporting the decaying walls were about in fault in the wake of her brazen intrusion.

Collectively, with her dark eyes flaring with reserved purpose, Peggy skimmed an affixed gaze incredulously over the crevices, sensing that everything was unstable.

The foreboding, musty smell of neglect hung thickly in the air as her rigid body neared the cement slab that clung against the eroding wall. She paused momentarily, and took a chance, silently observing Steve trudging fervently through the pool of murky water; his ruffled, dampened blond hair caught the halo of tarnished light that shone from the wall above them. Even without the mantle of the Captain America, or the vibrainum shield, he still carried unassailable strength of that, frail, hell-bent soldier who she had fallen in love with when he was considered _unworthy_ in the eyes of his fellow SSR recruits.

She had learned never to judge a man by the size of his stature, but the measure of his pure heart. Steve had been chosen to carry the burdens of a vast and crumpling world upon his shoulders. She never had doubted or lost her faith in him. Even when he wasn't there with her, guiding her through the harsh, torturous storms of her victories; his virtuous presence still found some way to knock against the fathoms of her brave, endearing, shattered heart. Summoning up an effortless breath, she evaded the irreverent dread and looked tenderly at him. "I wish we had more time, Steve," she said simply, masking the utter pitch of heartache in her voice. "It would have been a wonderful life to have cherished together."

"It's something I think about nearly every day," Steve replied, feeling emotion close up his throat. "I would have done anything to have that life with you, Peggy." His dismal gaze fell on her bright eyes, still the same as they always were, and felt himself sigh. "But I suppose we should count any time together as a blessing." His hand grasped hers tightly, fingers interwoven into a clasp of the utmost devotion. When he looked down at her obscured face, he'd managed to hold his lips into a grin. "I am content for the moment."

"I am not content, Steve," Peggy admitted, her voice hitched into wavering despair, as if she was suddenly regretting the choice of accepting a accursed betrayal against time. "HYDRA has taken everything from us in two lifetimes; it just doesn't feel real anymore to carry on in world that refuses to believe in humanity. I have fought against this evil with so few that I would gladly consider heroes; but deep in my heart I know that there will be no victory..." she trailed lifting his hand against her chest, feeling his rough knuckles dig into the leather of her jacket. She stared distantly at him, finding a gleam abject sadness residing in his stern blue eyes. "We have just a release to give us something that we wanted."

"Even if we lose, we can still have a victory," Steve said, searching into his memory to find those things which reminded him of this truth. "In the end-when we consider it in the grand scheme of things-wouldn't it be almost considered a gain to go down fighting for what we know is true with all our might? I know that the night is dark, Peggy. I've never seen it looking this bleak. But it's been said that while there may be pain in the night, joy comes in the morning. Let's pursue the dawn and not look back. HYDRA can take most things, but not our hope."

Peggy settled her eyes on the darkness of the chasm, "Let's go chase the dawn, Captain," she said, pulling her lips into a smile, and not releasing his hand. This was a test of strength, and there was no turning back. "Bucky needs his friend to guide him back home."

"Yes, ma'am," Steve replied with a grin, his eyes twinkling even in the darkness of the tunnel.

* * *

"Steve..." Sam heaved out a shaky breath, his dark eyes snapped down at the blond furred canine resting contently on the bottom step of the stairwell. His fell had fallen quiet, sometimes Sam caught a few whimpers of distress emitting from the wounded animal. Ripping a ratty blanket he'd uncovered from the closet, and quickly wrapped the makeshift bandage over Steve's slender belly; preventing the blood from leaking out. He rubbed his hand over the soft fur, feeling sadness crease over his face.

"C'mon man, you have to keep on fighting," he urged, tracing his fingers over the laden paw, struggling to find sense in his encouraging words. The situation was becoming irrelevant—Steve was falling deeper into the curse, and Sam feared that he wouldn't be able to pull the transformed captain out of the delirium. "Whatever is happening to you...I'm not leaving your side, brother."

* * *

Steve felt his consciousness torn from the moment-torn from Peggy—only to be thrown into a sea of pain and darkness. Or was he being brought back to consciousness? He couldn't tell; all he knew for sure was that his shoulder throbbed, his mind was full of sharp, dark pain, and someone was calling his name. He felt a hand, but his instincts made him blanch away. The curse was consuming almost all his energy, but his mind was hardly strong enough to keep up the fight for long. He felt like his soul was drowning in a sea of utter despair and lifelessness. His only concise thought was that he wanted to breathe the free air again. He wanted out of this haze.

"Steve, you have to return home," Peggy whispered with reluctance kindling in her eyes. She had to let him go. They would continue the fight someday as unbreakable shields and freedom fighters, but she knew that her captain was needed in another time...another world. "Go back and do what you were meant to do... save our world, Captain America."

She released him, feeling his hand slipping away. Her heart was tattering with longing to share another moment with him...but he was needed. Instead, of allowing herself to cling onto the threads of despair, she quickly pecked a soft kiss on his cheek, "Be brave, my darling."

Steve brought her hand to his lips and pressed hard against her knuckles, feeling a caress of warmth before he pulled away, and surrendered himself back to the darkness.

"I will come back, Peggy," he promised with the barest assurance of the word. "I will bring you home." He blinked, stinging tears collected against his lids. He took a moment, absorbing his lifelong dream—his heart standing there, gazing at him with everything he needed to carry on the fight. He was going back-to save them all and to restore what had been lost in the ice. He was going home.

* * *

"Come on, Cap. Don't give up the fight." Sam urged and his voice cracked with heavy pitches of breath. He swept his thumb over Steve's furred muzzle; blood dribbled from canine's mouth. He leaned his back against the railing, clutching his gun in his other and keeping his dark eyes steadied on the small child lying in a heap of blankets. He didn't have time to come up with a plan of extraction—he was desperate and gripping onto the invisible thread of hope that his friend would make it out alive. "Steve, hang in there. I'm going to get you out of here. We're going to find Bucky and together we will stop HYDRA."

The distant words echoed in Steve's mind, but he couldn't understand what they were. He could tell it was Sam's voice, but somehow the sounds were mangled and deformed. Steve found that his eyes were screwed tightly shut, like opening them would cause even more pain to his already throbbing body. Despite his vision being cut off, he still felt that he could register one color. Red. Red was everywhere, invading his mind like a heavy mist, seeping into his bones and joints. He could taste blood in his mouth.

Suddenly his legs and arms groaned with pain, and he realized he had fallen forward onto some hard surface. He seemed to have no control over his limbs except to make his muscles tense. Nothing made sense, and nothing made the pain stop. He couldn't even scream.

Sam's heart was torn by the rasps of breath. Steve was fading. This wasn't the end. The fire in his spirit refused to believe that. Moving away from the stairwell, he walked swiftly through the hallway, and entered the small kitchen. His nose crinkled at the wafting stench of urban decay. Avoiding a confrontation with a rat that he caught in his view, Sam strode in hurried steps to the sink, grabbed a decent glass on the window ledge, and twisted the rusted faucet. Within seconds a gush of cold water filled the glass. Hearing Steve's whimpers of distress, he raced out of the kitchen in fervent steps; and dropped to his knees at the dog's side.

"Don't you quit on me, Cap," he spoke in a firm voice, carefully tipping the glass above the accursed captain, drops of water struck against Steve's muzzle.

"Don't you quit on me, Cap..."

Steve vaguely felt the water on his parched lips, and he lapped eagerly at it, hoping it would calm the fire burning in his body. In truth, it offered little relief, but a little was better than nothing. Steve gasped as he tried not to choke on the drink, but he was so thirsty that he hardly took time to breathe. What he would have given for a stream of cool, clean water at that moment.

He could still hear the distant noise of Sam's voice, steadily giving him encouragement. But his mind was still too bogged down to clearly decipher what the man was saying. The curse weighed heavily on Steve's consciousness, always trying to push his floundering head beneath the waves of redness and pain and delirium.

Fighting it seemed nearly impossible now; Steve's strength was sapped from his body and mind alike. He clung only to a far off star of hope amid the dark night, and on that that thread of faith he dangled precariously.

"Steve can you hear me," Sam stressed, lowering himself fully down and he brought the dog's head to his lap. His quivering fingers kneaded through sodden fur. He could feel Steve's heart rate accelerating and the breath was growing ragged and more desperate.

His own heart was beating like thunder, whacking stratum of every bone in his chest. Sam knew it was a test, a pure monumental session of time to claim invocation to save his friend's life. Steadying his gaze on the dog's neck, Sam fixed his dark eyes on a simple cross-a symbol of immeasurable strength and unbreakable hope.

He clutched the necklace, holding it against his palm, squeezing all his energy into an urgency of assistance. "I can't lose him," he spoke in painful utterance, his throat clotting with a dry sob. "I can't lose my friend...Please give him the strength to fight. The world still needs a soldier to carry on your missions."

As Steve struggled against the blanket of weariness, pain, and advancing effect of the curse, he suddenly seemed to see a light pierce into the murky redness of his mind. It was that same star of hope he had been clinging to, but now it shone forth with increased brightness. His soul drank it in, and with all the strength and will he still possessed, he fought to surface in the realm of consciousness.

The curse countered his efforts on all fronts, but he pushed through, his eyes fixed only on the star that his mind saw. Though the pain flared and his being was worn from the fighting and the wounds, he kept trying to get out of the haze, pushing himself further and further up. The voice of Sam became clearer the harder he tried to focus, and at last he could understand the words. His senses began communicating information to his brain again, and he slowly opened his eyes, taking in the reality from which he had been away.

"The girl?" he gasped as soon as his mouth would allow, looking up at Sam and wincing as his injury continued to give him pain.

Sam couldn't recognize the indistinct whimper emitting from the dog. It didn't hold the edge of defiance that he heard those vocals produce a dozen times. This was desperate warring struggle of pain. He looked into the familiar azure eyes, staring into the drifting soul of his friend. Every moment was vital against the breach of the curse; he had to grip onto his faith and believe there was a way out of the raging storm.

Taking a glance over at the corner, he watched the child huddle underneath the blankets securely and then took his focus back onto the dog.

"She's fine," he assured, bringing his hand to Steve's wounded limb. "This isn't going hold out all night. We need to you to a secured location with medical supplies. The bullet is sinking deeper into your muscle, and you're bleeding from the mouth, suggesting that your body is fighting against a form of poison-"

"But how are we supposed to leave?" Steve rasped, his limbs shaking his breath coming in great gulps. "We can't put the child in danger, not for any reason. Did you see what happened to the shooter, where he went or if he was alone?"

Sam nodded quickly, assessing the wound. "I called Agent Hill from your Stark phone," he returned evenly, pressing his hand flat against the drenched gauze. "She'll be sending out Hawkeye to cover us when we move out. You need to rest, to become resilient again, Cap, now save your strength, because I've got to a feeling you're going to fight until not a breath exists in your lungs."

Steve found he couldn't argue, and he at last nodded in agreement. His wound was still causing him a great deal of pain, but it made him feel a lot better to know that help was on the way and the girl would be able to get somewhere safe. His breathing, though still labored, grew a bit more regular, and his muscles slowly uncoiled. His heart pounded in his ears, but he ignored it and let his eyes slip closed. Sam was right; he needed save his strength.

* * *

_A/N: A wonderful thank you goes to my co-writer and the ultimate Steggy fan JuliaAurelia. They are truly amazing people to share this world of writing._


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

* * *

_Though she had been brutally trained to resist any kind of pain, Anya winced as she__ clutched her damaged right arm; she tired__ to clamp her fingers over the exposed to close the gaping wound. Trickles of warm blood oozed through her fingers, its red lines dripping aimlessly down her forearm at an __ alarming rate. She had been hit badly; this was no simple injury to mend._

_With her back pressed against the solid wall that offered her cover, Anya let herself slide to the ground, unable to continue giving her partner support in the mission. She shook her long, chocolate hair out of her face and bit her lip, trying to ignore the pain that throbbed up and down entire right side, spreading every second the blood continued to flow. _

_She glanced around frantically for something to bind up the wound, but her uniform __could spare no material, and there was nothing lying around. She let out a slow breath through her clenched teeth and closed her eyes, praying that this mission would be over soon. She needed assistance, whether she liked to admit it or not._

_A metal hand seized her shoulder, gripping the muscle like claw and she felt her whole body jerk under the rigid clasp of alloy. She was snatched by the shadows, yanked through a doorway and protesting for release from the torrents of pain that invaded her body. Recalling all defenses, her fearful instincts consumed her veins. so activated her brutal training. She lashed out with a elbow into the figure's torso pinned against her back and jabbed hard into the rippling muscle. She poised herself, daring to twist around, teeth clenched and brown eyes gleaming with murderous intent, holding a warning for him not to pursue the fight._

_"Relax, kitten, you have open wound..." A raspy haunting baritone affirmed, emitting a low growl. "You're bleeding."_

_Anya felt her stiffened muscles relax a bit, though her partner's strong vise grip and unexpected appearance were not making her wound feel any better. She let out a frustrated sigh and gave James a half-serious glare before turning her mind to the present situation._

_"The mission?" she asked, still clamping the injury with her free hand._

_"The directive was successful," the Winter Soldier issued with a gravelly response. Anya felt his cold breath ghosting over her exposed skin, glacial blue eyes narrowed down for a moment to assess her marred forearm. His metallic fingers traced over the gash with a brush of hesitance akin to brotherly concern. His deaden gaze never left her wound. He guided her to the vacant chair, using his boot to drag it closer and carefully settled her down. "Rest," he ordered, plaintively, sending a prickle of coldness through her veins. "I need to stop the blood flow."_

_Anya obeyed in tensed silence, clutching her arm as she waited for the Winter Soldier to do what he had said. Just as with most other missions, James was cold and emotionless after a kill. His voice, his eyes, and his bearing all pointed to the behavior of a well-made machine. Anya knew that HYDRA would have her be the same, but no matter what she did, there was always a spark of something else in her heart that prevented her from shutting off her soul it was the same with the Winter Soldier, but he did a efficient job of hiding it. Either way, despite what Anya's training had commanded and all her best efforts, she could feel the cool fingers of fear gripping her mind._

_"Hold out your arm," he ordered, gruffly, feeling a breach his mechanistic programming. He squatted down to her level, ripped the sleeve of his tactical jacket with a harsh yank. Vaguely, he became aware of her body trembling in the wake of his metal clutch. He couldn't deny her any comfort in the harrowing moment of feeling her pulse elevate. There was a general sense of benevolence rising within him, and hesitance. The mindless tortures he endured didn't permit him to respond to another's struggle against pain._

_Staring into her brown eyes, the Winter Soldier blinked the red haze out of his vision, and stroked his gloved hand over the marred skin of her exposed arm. He sucked in a breath, and steadied his pale blue irises on her pale face, watching the rancid veil of discomfort crawl in succession over her delicate features. "You'll get use to feeling pain...It's all apart of your training. You can't fight it, but you can bury it." He raveled the torn material of his sleeve around her wrist, applying rigid pressure._

_"How can I bury it fully?" Anya asked, trying not to gasp as spurts of pain shot up her arm. "Every time I try, I feel like it's not something I should accept. Like it's not normal."_

_"We must accept it, Anya," the Winter Soldier answered sternly, but under all the layers of training, there was a part of him that knew what Anna was talking about. The flicker of light that HYDRA had suppressed for decades was still there, burning just brightly enough to cause James to let out a sad sigh as he continued to wrap Anya's arm. "It is the only way for us to survive. Normal or not, pain is here, and we can either let it conquer us or we can conquer it."_

_Anya felt as if her soul were burdened by her partner's words. If it all depended on her will-endure or die_—_then she was not likely to survive for very long. She looked the Winter Soldier in the eye, her gaze pleading for him to support her, for him to be the strength she could not muster. He was so strong, so __stationary;__ surely he would make it in this pain_—_filled world longer than anyone else. If only she could survive the pain with him._

_There was cold resistance in his hallowed soulless blue eyes; almost as if a faint glimmer of sentiment. He was fighting against the programming; he gazed at her with benevolence, trying to understand her pain, while unable to stop complex processing the current situation of a impending threat around them._

_ Shadows crawled over his pale hollowed cheeks, he finished securing the fabric over her arm-trying not to look back into her eyes. "You're not ready to experience real pain, not the kinda of stuff that I had done to me." Anya arched her brow up, listening to the timbre of an American accent roll off his tongue. His lips arched as they moved with his words, as he fought to dispute out his real voice-not a harsh Russian baritone, but a youthful and brotherly voice. "I will tell you this, beautiful, you've got strength. That's all you need to complete the mission."_

_Anya felt a small grin tug at her lips at the Winter Soldier's compliment. She didn't really feel strong, but James undoubtedly had a better eye for inner strength than she did, and after all, how could she not trust her partner's judgment on the matter? As the Soldier tied the last knot to bind up her wounded arm, Anya sighed, feeling a bit of resolve flicker in her mind._

_"I'll do what I can to push through," she said at last, testing the mobility of her injured limb. "Hopefully the strength will be there when I need it," she added softly, almost as though she were saying a prayer._

_The Winter Soldier glared at her, refusing to allow those sentimental words to fall within him, when he looked distantly away, he felt some measure of understanding. Anya summoned all defenses, his stature looked utterly terrifying in the faint shafts of light reflecting over his metal arm. And it was hard more to grasp onto emotion, he thought all humanity had been severed, but in the moment as his eyes flashed and dropped to her arm, he felt compelled to touch her unmarred skin with his flesh hand._

_"Can I..." His lips pressed into a constricted line, and he swallowed thickly after a _tenuous breath. _"You are stronger than most I have trained, but you are also different and real. I honor that, because you know what it means to be alive." He declared, and stared emptily at her, but Anya saw flicker of a soul beyond his menacing glower, he tried to __process degree of humility, despite knowing that to touch her was forbidden. He never wanted to make her feel uncertain about their partnership, he wasn't a ravaging monster -he did have life flowing in his cold veins. "You can still be alive when they don't look back."_

_Ayna winced again, and her hand grazed his sleeve; her eyes tore away from his instantly. "It was an accident. I didn't mean to touch you, sir."_

_The Winter Soldier clasped his metal fingers over her wrist, at first Anya thought he was going to punish her back into submission, instead he eased her arm down and looked intensely into her eyes. "Call me James." There was vague hope echoing in his husky voice. He had some memory and truth of his identity under the mask of his guise. He trusted her with his secret. No other female operative in the ranks could never receive his reliance. She was pure and he felt a spark ignite within him each time he chanced to look into her rich colored eyes. "__That is my name and all I have left of me that wasn't taken. I want you to call me by it."_

_"I am not permitted to call anyone by their name," Anya said carefully, feeling belittled by her insignificance of the ranks. She was remade to follow orders, to extract lives and pull the trigger. She was a weapon who was programmed to kill without reason in the eyes of HYDRA, and she couldn't be__ granted with attachments to humanity. It wasn't right for him to test her limits, to breach her heart. "My superiors gave me instructions to call you the Winter Soldier and nothing else."_

_He glanced at his bionic arm, at the inhumane handiwork of Doctor Armin Zola. At the symbol of his new pledge to order and death that he had once fought against when he wore a different face and smiled carefree because it felt really good to embrace life-family and friendship. Anya noticed his disquiet expression tampering with the hardened, calculating exterior of the merciless assassin. "Did you always have that?" she asked, with intrigued voice, his eyes flashed dangerously and his head reared up. "It looks like it replaced your real arm." She knew was terrible mistake to even ask the Winter Soldier about the history of his metallic limb, obviously he didn't feel comfortable enough to return her question. Blankly, he stared at the emblem of the red star, and eventfully nodded._

_"They do things to you if you fight back," he returned in low timbre, gritting his teeth. "I don't remember much, but I do know that it hurt when my bones were detached. When I woke up, nothing was ever the same..." He parted his lips, breath ghosted out, and eyes shifted back to her. "I felt incomplete and wounded, but they said I would get use to it because I was remade to become they're greatest weapon." _

_He straightened his sculpted muscles into an intimating posture, moving in slow, menacing steps towards a wall, and then resumed into motionless stance. "I kill with this piece of hardware and leave everything into pieces..." He sucked in a seething breath, the plates of his shoulder rotated with his clenched fist and violently drove a punch into the wall, breaking through plaster and cement. Anya eased herself from the chair, and sauntered close to him, still keeping her distance._

_ "I know they took more than just my arm from me...They took something else and buried it deep." The Winter Soldier pulled out his rigid hand, and shook off the remnants of cement dust. His blue eyes held a sheen of heated and remorseful tears; streaks of wet lines glazed his garnished chiseled features. "Like what they stole from you..." He denoted sourly, trying to make sense of his emotions that clawed into his heart. "It doesn't matter, we are what they made us and we can't show disobedience, because they will kill us, beautiful."_

_Anya felt a tremor in her chest, she took a risk, and spoke in a volume of sincerity."What they've stolen from us can never be undone, but we can restore some memories that stick with us, James." He lowered his eyes, and tentatively lifted his real hand to her arm; he wanted to feel her skin cool under his touch, but he was too burdened by the fear her life, he couldn't endanger her because of his __unvoiced desires to feel the warmth of blood underneath flawless ivory skin. Either he had to relinquish temptation, or take unsecured risk. Either way, he would reclaim a piece of his existence and suppress all doubt weighing him down. When Anya sensed his intrusion, she froze, feeling vulnerable, but also displayed respect for him. "What are you going to do with me?" she asked, brown eyes unvaried._

_He squared his broad jaw, a muddled semblance crept over his daunting face, uncertain and undecipherable. Confusion. Desperation. Guilt. He looked down at her bandaged limb, his eyes glistening, and he took a involuntarily step back; giving her a sense of trust. If there was a chance to prove to her that they were more than just partners, he did to take the direct approach, and willingly gave her something that he declined to give his other students. "I'm not going to hurt you, do I make myself clear?"_

_She nodded mutely, sealing her lips, and stared behind the wintry blue eyes of both machine and man. He was giving her glimpse of James Barnes, no masks or aggression, just pure benevolence that she had been searching for all her life in the shadows. Before she could answer, he lunged at her, crashing his torso against her lithe body, jostling the bones under his powerful weight. It was untenable to fathom, a undying truth had flared inside her and she couldn't fight him, no more unbearable it seemed to feel the penetrating heat of his muscles slip into her body within contact, she couldn't resist him, but surprisingly, he didn't assault her lips, instead, he wrapped his strong flesh and metal arms around her body and pressed her close to his hard chest._

_"James-"_

_"You're safe with me," he raged out a promise, his tone wavered with impenetrable coldness and honesty. The metal of his hand threaded through her chocolate unruly hairs, his jaw dipped against her shoulder, the softness of his grazed over her cheek. "I will never let them hurt you, Anya. You are under my protection."_

_Anya shook her head in refusal, almost shuddering. "I shouldn't even be this close to you-" she advised, squashing down a lump rising in her throat. "We're disobeying the rules. This means that we'll be punished."_

_"We won't...They will never find out. I'm in control of the missions. You're my partner. We fight together. They can't stop us."_

* * *

Becoming vaguely aware of the radiating warmth penetrating in him, Bucky peeled his eyes open to the murky grayness of the somber morning. Silver had pierced through the cloud masses over the city. Flecks of clear azure peaked against the fluffy layers, only to disappear into the clusters of falling snow. A chill swept against his ebony fur as he stared at the crystal sticks of ice merged against the rusted eavestrough. Distant train horns blared, and the smell of car exhaust swept through the bleak, frigid air. Snow was falling down harder, creating a wall of whiteness obstructing his view—but he was used to winter.

The black cat blinked, using his paw to wipe off the lingering wetness of the snow from his muzzle. Feeling her slender body pressed up against him, Bucky jolted upright onto his paws, his fur tensed as he quickly reacted to the movement; and processed his memory subtly, his pulse easing down, responding to her touch—to her content warmth. Anna curled up against him, her tail protecting her muzzle from the bite of coldness. "Anna," he murmured gravely, nudging her head, as he tried to cling onto every shred of his humanity. "Are you awake?"

Anna's eyes fluttered open, and as she gazed at James-so close to her and yet also so far away-she sighed. "I am now," she murmured with a tentative smile The frigid air bit her nose and eyes as she fully awakened, and she wished she could stay covered and closed in the wonderful warmth of sleep. But she could not afford any more rest now, and the motivation of escaping the effects of the curse was more than enough to rouse her.

"What's our first move?" she asked, waiting for his answer with unblinking, feline eyes.

"Simple. We need to drop the little fur balls off...The storm's getting worst," he affirmed breathless, retracting out his claws the damp cardboard floor of the rotting box. His stern blue eyes firmly affixed on the apartment, searching for an visible sign of an opened window-an entrance point to infiltrate the apartment and search for the kitten's new caregiver. He that children adored kittens-Steve used to take in the homeless strays of Brooklyn that he discovered in alleyways after getting beaten up-sometime he nursed them back to health with what meager supplies of consented milk they had stocked in the cupboards. "There had to be kid living around here..." He paused, trying to detect a youthful presence, his ears twitched a little before he cautiously stalked out of the box and moved ahead to the building. "I'll scout the area, don't leave the box until I tell you that it's clear to move out."

"Okay," Anna agreed, glancing to the side to be sure that the kittens were alright. Both were still right beside her, shielded from the cold by her warmth. Their backs rose and fell with the constancy of sleep, the image of peace. She turned back to face James and gave him a look of the utmost of concern. "Be careful, James," she warned him quietly. "As long as HDYRA has it out for us, we aren't safe."

Unbeknownst to the tone of deterrent in her strained voice, Bucky turned his head, looking back at her momentarily; he endeavored to sooth her wary spirit with calmness pitching in his voice. "Stick to the shadows, kitten," he said as his words fell away into the harsh wind and flecks of ice. Anna leaned against the cardboard, using her tail to secure the mewling kittens against her. Bucky knew that she would be safe-Anna survived through the immeasurable years of pain; she had preserved her strength without him shielding her from the demons.

Now, the transformed Soviet assassin sensed a constant need of attachment-humanity that finally pierced from the darkness of their torturous world. For the first time, he felt at ease, knowing that she was safe from HYDRA, even though she wasn't the beautiful woman he had fallen in love with -he still loved her.

Stalking closer to the apartment, Bucky halted in his steps at rusted dumpster obstructing him from the harsh snow fall. He lowered himself to the ground,raring to pounce and climb. He balanced steadily on his hind legs and dug his claws into the snow, and coiled back liked a winding spring before leaping into the air and landing gracefully onto the edge of the dumpster. Within seconds, he vanished into the white squalls, leaving Anna to fend on her own without his protection.

Anna felt her heart ache as James vanished from her sight. She sighed, trying to turn her attention from the companion she longed for to the little kittens that needed her attention. The small felines had a thin layer of snow resting on their quivering backs, but Anna knew it would keep them warmer if they had something to insulate their own body heat. She bent down her head, tucking the female kitten closer to herself, and curled up as she had been before awakening. While she left her senses highly attuned to her surroundings, she let her eyes fall closed.

As he detected that Anna was safe and hidden from danger, Bucky paused on the step of fire- escape latter, momentary considering his options of leaving her out of the directive to locate Steve. He knew that the hellbent levels of risk were too high and he couldn't reason with his marred heart to allow his " best girl" to become a part of his own battle with the demons.

The impact of her death would haunt him for the rest of his life; Bucky refused to surrender to those rational torrents of uncertainty, they would all prevail from the curse, but sacrifice made to be made in order to taste freedom again.

After releasing a frustrated breath, he climbed the steps and swiftly leapt through window, landing gracefully onto his paws. His blue irises enlarged and darkened , he scanned the vacant room and searched for heat signatures that belong to a small child.

When time had passed, Anna found that she could not keep her eyes closed. When she opened them, nothing seemed amiss: the snow was still falling lightly, the kittens were asleep, and there was no sign of a disturbance that she could detect. But somehow her heart was uneasy, and she began to fear that she shouldn't have let James go by himself.

The longer she waited, the more she wished she was not. Finally, the ache and restlessness that was eating away at her mind became too much to bear. She gingerly rose from the box and turned back, assuring that the kittens were not disturbed. They had not moved an inch, their tiny eyes still shut. Anna gripped the corner of the box and slowly dragged it behind a dumpster, keeping the kittens out of view. Then, when she was sure that they would be safe without her for a few minutes, she perked her ears forward and followed James' small tracks through the snow.

Bucky knew that he shouldn't have left her alone. It was the resistance against his heart; but the surges of impulse begun to invade his body. He was drawn back to as if he being pulled by a magnetic force of energy through the dense and cluttered hallway. He couldn't fight the intense urges, those assailing benevolent emotions of thrumming in his veins that commanded him willingly beyond through the grayness of shadows looming in front of vacant apartments.

When he neared the furthest corner of the narrow hall, Bucky froze in mid-step and unblinkingly pinned his glacial blue eyes on a faded paint caught in the flecks of tarnished light gleaming over the white plastered walls. Silhouettes of scattered toys and boxes eclipsed the obstructed area, as the Winter Soldier stalked closer to the corner; his rigid metal claws poised against the floor. The murderous glint in his keened glacial eyes coaxed the darkness, as he methodically advanced towards the directive point.

As Anna entered the apartment where James' prints had entered, she detected his scent and followed it at a careful gait, slow and silent. She stayed in the darkest of shadows, her old training and habits coming back to her like innate instinct. She wanted to catch up with the Winter Soldier, but at the same time, she didn't want to expose herself, so she cautiously quickened her pace, remaining soundless. After a moment, she spotted an open door with a black tail just disappearing inside it. She trotted forward, listened intently for any foreign noises, and followed James into the room.

Using the ambiance of shadow, Bucky edged from the dim light exposing his elusive calculating presence; his keen blue eyes swept over a pile of unopened boxes that presumably revealed signs that a family was moving into the apartment-definitely children. He couldn't assume, not without evidence that his objective was secure. Advancing, his steps were systematic and carried intimating purpose, once again he felt powerful -unstoppable. His slender body evoke a sense of dread to unseen eyes of the scurrying inhabitants who dared to cross his path and his urges to attack intensified with each vibration of a cat's command prey-mice.

Crouching low, Bucky positioned himself into a patient stance, contriving his direct assault on the timid creature caught in his sight. With an instinctive reactions, his claws retracted out and ears pinned flat against his head; the black cat locked his darkened gaze on the mouse paralyzed in fear. He detected the elevating heartbeat, and inhaled the wavering scent of drenched fur as his senses became tampered with hunger. "There's no point of running..." Bucky hissed gravelly, his intense stare unblinkingly. "You know how the game works. I kill you and leave no traces..."

"James!" Anna called out, serious intent hung in her voice. She appeared from the shadows as she suddenly found she could contain herself no longer. She couldn't bear to watch as her partner battled the effects of the curse; she did not dare to let his mind slip further under its control. "James," she said again in a more composed tone, "we need to focus on our mission and then get back to the little ones as soon as we can."

Hearing the urgently in her voice, Bucky stopped dead in front of the box, disturbed and calculating. His eyes twitched. He rove his cold and malevolent glare from the mouse. His muzzle clenched, fur bristled into tense waves on his arched back, and Anna stood her ground against his impulse to attack. This was a deadly confrontation, mixed with raw grating emotions and olden pain that never ceased to dissolve out of him. Blanching away, he stared unabashedly at the female cat inching closer to him, she looked fearless and determined. His blue eyes grew livid. Then, his gaze narrowed on his metallic claws and his paw lifted to swipe at her. "James," she cooed with gentle ease wavering in her voice, but still held firmness -a sense of authority that he could react towards. Her stare flared with understanding, not anger, and her voice softened. "Everything will be fine. No one is going to hurt you. Trust me."

Bucky hissed. His irises stilted into a shape of blade, cold fire circularize the darkness, he was obviously lost in his programming. He could have abandoned her, the Winter Soldier was remade to never cling onto mortal attachments, to never become corrupted by emotions and heart desires, but the kindling warmth that he felt with her refused those urges. Anna risked everything in that unpredictable moment, she trusted him with choice and sat in front of him, motionless and persistence was evident in her stare.

"I need you to focus on the mission, soldier," she commanded. "We've got a chance to live again, but the mission must complete, for us to embrace freedom." Bucky didn't respond. The dense air in the apartment carried a ominous stench of decay and warning. Anna seized control, lifting her head slightly, unshakable against the deleterious tension that hung in the air between them, but she was firm not to allow the situation to fall apart. "You made a promise to save your friend, remember?" Bucky narrowed his eyes as he refused to look at her. Anna moved her paw to his trembling limb. He was drifting further into the dark hold of the curse, pieces of him were fading-eliminated.. "Steve needs you."

He stepped back, her desperate words garnered a coiled in his veins, and he was still absent towards the emotional connection. Anna took a brazen step forward, more purposeful. "I know you're having a tough time dealing with this, but I know the ropes and I can guide you through it, James."

Bucky screwed his eyes shut and tried to break away from the red abyss. Dread crawled over him and his claws dug into the floor was he grasped onto his humanity. Images of Steve-his best friend-his little brother who withstood against all levels of pain- transforming into a displaced and weakened canine erupted from the fractured recesses of his mind. Steve shared that morbid punishment because of him-it was his fault.

"Steve's in trouble," he whispered, brokenly, cracking his eyes open as the blur against red had resolved into Anna. He took a small, dizzily step forward. She became close, warm fur enveloping his slender muscles. It was instinctive and the temporal relief, because ultimately if she hadn't been there Bucky would have fully accepted his atonement for his sins. They needed each other-beacons of light against the darkness enfolding over their world. The constant ache increased, reminding him of how many lives were on the line. "We're all in danger..."

"No," Anna returned with a protesting tone. "We can still beat HYDRA and become human again." She leveled her stare, locking her amber eyes onto his face. James Barnes was alive beyond all the black fur and whiskers, his spirit still burned with defiance and the utmost of unyielding devotion. It took some effort to reach him and more strength to let a few endearing words roll off her tongue. "I will never quit fighting until I see you smile again."

It felt like her confession ripped through him, and tore into his heart violently. "It's not your fight, Anna," Bucky snarled, and his claws lashed against the floor. He embraced that harrowing promise he had made when Steve turned to run into the opposite direction, his blue eyes filled with the rawness of regret.

He wanted to pursue the chance that he had to save his best friend from the clutches of HYDRA. It was the heartfelt oath he had gave to Sarah Rogers, his words eased her dying heart when he held her frail had and told her that he would always be there for her little Stevie. There was still evidence in his strained voice that he wouldn't erase his lifelong promise that became alive on that grim day. Steve needed Bucky to guide him back into the light-to face the storm together-to put HYDRA on the ropes once and for all.

Bucky looked back at her, broken and discernible. He was branded to live in the darkness of winter as a monster, soulless wraith, but she had always been his anchor during the times he felt powerless. He couldn't lose her to HYDRA. Not again. "You know the risks that I'll be taking when I'm out there...If you follow this road with me, there might be no turning back."

An icy chill wrapped around her body, and Anna lowered her head, recalling scattered memories."You made a promise to me, that we would fight together and HYDRA would never stop us." She lifted her gaze at him, staring deeply into his piercing blue eyes, not backing down."I know that you're afraid to lose me, James, but this is bigger than us, if we don't stop HYDRA, then more lives will be ruined because we didn't trust each other to make the right choice."

Bucky resettled his shifty eyes to her marred limb, he was instantly drawn to her warmth, and gently caressed her fur with a caress of his paw. "Sounds like a plan," he breathed, keeping his paw encompassed over the exposed gauge that damaged her fur. "I don't think giving kittens away to a kid is the best option, but I do sense another cat in the hallway, target is possibly a female."

Anna nodded. "I sense her as well," she said, looking directly at the door, and saw a pair of green eyes reflecting in the glints of light. It was definitely a mature female cat. "We need to draw her out and close to the kittens. She is our best option to make the mission an success."

"I'll bring to the kittens inside," Bucky told her with a tone of insistence, jumping onto a box, and slipping his slender form underneath the window frame that had remained half open. His muzzle clenched as snow touched his nose. He looked back at her, "Do not allow the cat the permit the area," he advised, before taking a powerful leap onto the fire escape, without losing momentum he clambered down to the dumpster, balancing his weight with graceful ease when his paws touched the cold metal. He used the same route to reach the cardboard box, hastened steps, evading unknown threats that he sensed in the narrow spaces.

Sniffing the foreboding stench wet dog fur; Bucky glared at the bleak surroundings, keeping himself aloof in the shadows that were still attached to the brick work. He crept forward, alert and focused on the box, snow fell into spiraling tendrils against his fur, barely giving clarity of his objective. The moment was tense and crushing, as he reached the box, after he avoided being caught in the gaze of rabid fog prowling the alleyway. He got down on his belly, their black silhouettes were balls in the darkness and bodies shivering.

"Hey..." Bucky extended his paw out to the kittens, guiding them out of the corner, their nose twitched as they responded to his trust. "C'mon kids we've gotta move, I found you a safe house." Grumbling under his breath as the stench of dog grew potent in the air, he wasted no time, and snatched the babies into his mouth, quickly spiting out, but froze in the moment he saw a large and terrifying shadow covering his tracks. It wasn't a sickly beast, the legs were muscled and body formed into a killing machine. Bucky chanced a glare, and found himself staring up at menacing and dark face of a HYDRA Doberman-a brutal tracker and deadly threat to stray felines. "Keep quite, kids," he spoke in low voice, slowly backing close a wall. "Don't even think about fighting back."

The slender, towering canine crinkled his long muzzle, locking onto the kitten's scent. He grounded his paws into snow, angling his powerful build into a attacking stance, eyes darkened into a soulless gaze of coal and jaw loosen for him seize the marked prey in matter of seconds. His mouth curled up, revealing to the elusive feline a set of fangs made for one purpose to penetrate flesh and lock onto muscles with savage bite. Bucky recalled his defenses, and stood on his guard as the beast shadowed the area, with his muzzle lower and teeth grating in the mounds of snow. The dog was searching for him and then if he was found death would come quick and painless.

Bucky knew that any movement would giveaway his position, and endanger the kittens. Suddenly the female let out a audible cry, and the doberman's cropped ears perked up and dark eyes latched onto the space in between the dumpster and bags of loose trash. The canine advanced closer, moving like a unstoppable force, his rolled up into blank whiteness and jowls opened to devour his prey. Bucky sprung into the air, but the dog's head butted his back sending him crashing into the wall; he couldn't move as the kittens tumbled on the ground meowing in distress. "Leave them alone," he hissed, enraged, and lunged at the dog, slashing his claws, but he soon learned that provoking a doberman that had craving for feline blood was a mistake. Still, he defended the kittens, using all his ingrained skills and instincts to save them from getting ripped into shreds of fur.

Growling with a foaming mouth, the doberman threw Bucky down hard, stunning him before going in for the kill. He was blinded by an explosion of pain, his body was laden on the ground, and ribs were becoming crushed as the dog's muzzle dug hungrily into his side. Every bone jostled as he felt his strength draining out of him when the rotation of fangs grazed over his stomach, threatening to tear him open. He tasted blood gathering on his tongue, but the dog released him, and set a pair of cold eyes on the kittens -easy prey to devour with one bite.

In those harrowing moments, Bucky could of sworn he heard a cruel laugh escape the canine as the kittens tried to wobble away from massive paws barricading their path. The dog was else a victim of HYDRA's sordid cursive nature to changed flesh into fur.

"You know I like to eat cats alive," a growling, emotionless voice emitted from the doberman, he lowered his head, ready to snag the female into his clamping jaws. "...kittens are so easy to kill, all it takes it one bite to crush them." Then, his head twisted and he glared at Bucky. "Maybe I should take care of you first, to show these runts that cats will always be weak in the face of danger."

Bucky strained against the pain, his ribs were bruising as he rolled onto his back, grasping heavily for breath. He blinked the recurring sting of tears out of his eyes, and focused his blurring gaze to the direction of the street; vaguely imaging Steve dressed in his vibrant spangled uniform, standing defiant on top of parked car; his chiseled and youthful face battle hardened, fierce blue eyes burning through the snowy haze and the alloy shield gleaming in the light. He looked down at Bucky, gesturing out his gloved hand with commanding motion.

_...Never back down, soldier. Fight em' back. Show them that no one messes with a kid from Brooklyn..._

Nodding back to the illusion of his friend, Bucky struggled onto his paws, unsteady, but unyielding to his lethal, drooling opponent, and for a second Bucky felt his indomitable strength return to him. Blood matted his fur, and tensed muscles throbbed in rapid exhaustion, but he stood his ground and held onto the unbreakable defiance of a Howling Commando and the fearless soldier from Brooklyn: James Buchanan Barnes.

"I will fight," he seethed harshly, calculating his attack, and engaged, sinking his metal claws into the doberman's leg, he listened to the dog yelp, relenting from the aggressive attack."Threaten my friends again mutt, and I give you pain. Even with these claws, I'll find a way to end you...Perhaps I know a bigger dog, who doesn't like bullies, you sad excuse for a fleabag..." Bucky threatened glaring dangerously at the dog and dug his claws harder into exposed, bloodied flesh, it was a painful warning not to mess with him or the kittens. "Get out of my sight."

The doberman yowled out a agonized response, and threw the cat off his limb, retreating into the streets, limping on his wounded leg. Bucky waited for the canine to vanish into the street, then he scooped up the kittens with gentle ease and made his way back to Anna. Redemption still existed for him, but he needed to restore his brotherhood with Steve, for that was the next mission.

* * *

Author Note : A gracious thank you goes out to amazing Thalion Estel for always surprising me with her talent, and wonderful JuliaAurelia for inspiring to write this story out.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

* * *

Being remotely aware of the punishing trials he endured, Steve felt breath smothering his lungs, thick and ragged paces of sheer exhaustion. He was drowning within the ensnaring thralls of the ruinous curse, searching for a sense of mortal comfort against the reproaching threadbare pain. His resistance had been compromised; and he tried to balance the loitering surges of unassailable power, but his weak; battered body took a crushing blow of realization that necromancy was exceeding into full throttle by the passing hour: unwillingly forcing him to languish against the delirious and uncanny nightmares that flitted against the strongholds of his mind.

A few seconds passed and when Steve finally attempted to peel his eyelids open just enough to allow halos of distant streetlight to pierce into his unfocused azure irises: his nose crinkled and inhaled the feverish sweat dousing over his solidly muscled body.

His dilapidated mind could hardly register sound from silence; everything was a muddle, and he was vaguely that someone was asking him something, but during the betraying, tormented struggle of lucidity, he wasn't sure if the indistinct voice wavering in the darkness was unfeigned or remnants of a deceptive abstract memory that bled into the reserves of his entwining soul.

When he vision reached its clarity, a foggy haze obstructed the intense flashes of engaging automation, towering silhouettes of HYDRA operatives dropping to the ground when arrows sliced through the armored chests; and grunts of the targets muffled through the bleak, snowy air. Bullet castings, blood and tissue shattered on the ground, Steve caught the foul whiff of the archer's succession.

Within three seconds, a deafening cacophony of an explosion vibrated through the wooded planks of the apartment, and the darkened sky became lit by the embellishing wash of crimson and amber, a canvas of the inferno that made everything on the street fall into a chaotic amiss. Clint's task was complete. He eliminated the threat and gave the fading Avenger a clear passage of time for Steve to recover his fleeting strength, and to fight against the imperiling course of pain ripping through his leaden body.

"Steve?"

The urging voice seemed unreachable for him to respond to, but Steve knew the security of brother was adjoining, and strengthening his dimming spirit, and he now needed a friend more than ever, but desperation was something he refused to reckon. He was Captain America, a virtuous man chosen to receive a chance to save, protect, avenge people, not because of his iron wielding strength-but his determined and never yielding heart. He'd carried insurmountable pain, raced through the jaws of death and brought salvation into the darkest realms of humanity, and he never surrendered from a fight.

Steve had to keep the unrelenting, fierce and defiant reserves of power alive and fought against the submission of the curse. As the phantoms emerged in the transparent haze, his blue eyes suddenly began to catches glimpses of horrific images of his distant past. He was reliving the awakened memories of young soldiers falling in battle, their last cries of mercy draining into the gurgles of blood clotting their throats. Everything contorted in distorted, jagged shards that pierced through macabre imagery of harvested piles of death scattered on the desolate, blood soaked fields of Western Europe.

He felt the abhorrent reproach of reserved anguish, the leaden, detached grief of his mother's death, her frail and lifeless body being laid into the ground next to a father he never knew. A part of him wanted to delete the regressing clashes of utmost regret from his addled mind, to bury his resurfacing grievances into the undulating fathoms that resided within the layers of his distressed heart.

Every reflected visage of memory blotted into seams of red, as replaying, and painful snapshots of Bucky invaded and tore through him with returning, glacial punctures of unbearable, unrestrained despair. His hand had been so close; one more inch, and his best friend wouldn't have become a captive into the whitening void of the mountain pass.

Steve couldn't even fathom the pain Bucky had endured for a century of being controlled unwillingly by the sadistic minds of HYDRA. He craved for vengeance, his torn heart was becoming plagued by the venomous urges to raid every known location of his enemies, and destroy all the torturing devices-serums and chains that turned Bucky into that ruthless, demented, hollow monster: the Winter Soldier.

Everything that Bucky had once been before the light was taken out of his eyes. That pain assailed in Steve when he spent his nights flipping through the old Soviet file of the Winter Soldier. He tried to search for the truth beyond the black and white negatives of old photographs collected by men that had no souls to hide. Every image held a memory of pain; every note was a degrading recourse of stolen life. HYDRA took his best friend -made a pure, earnest and unbreakable man into a soulless, lethal, menacing weapon of obedience.

The echoes of war consumed his frustrations and nostalgia. He'd hadn't been true to his word; the embers of his optimistic spirit that been doused by the entwining jagged wires of scraped against his heart, and he allowed Bucky to slip away back into the shadows to become a ghost of his memories.

Erratic pulses of rage invaded his heart; the merciless chasms of ice haunted his memories like old reel of a tarnished film that kept on playing until the capture images blotted out. Armin Zola's decrepit face emerged from the fractured cervices of his tormented and dimming mind, sordid words echoed in every detectable thought: _Your life amount to a zero sum, Captain._

Tousled blond tresses of his greasy hair became drenched and unkempt in the disturbance of his nightmarish regressions. He was attacked as he tried to take stock of his diminishing humanity, but rancid pricks of dread seared into his elevating chest; blood tangled and solidified in his heart, rasps of unsteady exhales ghosted out of his paling lips with rapid deviates of writhing struggle as he entered another recourse of a soul-ravaging delirium.

There was no direction of guidance, no spinning arrow pointing the way home. Steve aimlessly searched for hope and solace, but found coldness replacing the mere warmth of his flesh and blood. He was becoming a captive into the weaves of the dark spell HYDRA had compressed against his soul.

It was torturous moment to endure, but somehow beyond on the pain, Steve knew that he would fight until his last heartbeat. He was a soldier who fought until the battle's end, no matter the value of the cost. He wouldn't break under the depths of the curse that only threatened to strip his humanity into shreds, but also condemn Bucky endure suffering with unlimited rages of unabated torment. Wounds no matter how deep could be stopped, but losing his soul would mean total surrender to the merciless fight.

A trickling line of sweat outlined the jagged edge of his cheek and slipped down his neck falling into the indents of straining muscle. Wincing against the knots of pain resettling in his bones, the captain managed to peel his eyelids open and find a resolve of amber streetlight beaming over his laden body.

He felt barely alive, his weighted limbs stiff and chest seized with compression of heat that seemed to sear through his pounding heart. It was crushing for him to feel useless and dependent on his friend's strength. He spent seventy years in the depths of water and ice, frozen and sealed away from the rebuilding world; but the feeling of tasting his soul beginning to detach from unknown torment felt like death.

Steve knew that he couldn't win the battle of mortality alone; he needed his friends to fight along his side, and end HYDRA's merciless power of enslaving good people into condemned vessels of tamed animals. He had to find a way to restore every captive of Baron Strucker's inhumane experiments; he sensed the survivors hiding in the shadows throughout the city, worthless, forgotten strays that people overlooked and left to fend out in the dropping temperatures. In other words, each victim had been condemned to drift as a ghost to search for a way back home.

Feeling the strident grip of the curse rejoining with his bones, Steve abruptly rolled over onto his side; his sculpted body protesting as red flashes of torment shot through his nerve endings. A low, guttural moan tore from his lips, but he shoved it down and tried to take in the scene before him. He could not stand the thought to lying here, useless. He was meant to help people, not remain out of action while they needed aid. But the room was a haze before him, and he couldn't make any sense of it.

Even fully opening his eyes brought a wave of nausea to his stomach and a sting of pain to his head. He closed his eyelids again, and instead used his ears to listen, hoping that there was someone beside him somewhere in this nightmare that was the wakeful world. It seemed the worst possible fate to be trapped like this all alone.

_...You won't be alone, Captain..._

"Peggy? Where are you?" Steve moaned in a delirious, urgent timbre, releasing a shuttering breath; while obtaining strength in his distant voice. He listened to her gentle voice echo, lulling him back into a moment of untainted peace. He couldn't process the context, the need to grab her beckoning hand piercing out of the spindles of darkness; trying to break free from the vicious surges of pain. He coughed, lifting his shaky hand with much effort off the cold ground, and spread his fingers apart to adamantly join with the apparitions of his muddled arraying thoughts had been plagued to conceive. He refused to give into the demeaning punishment; his aching heart had to reform against it.

"I'm here, my darling," Peggy soothed with hushed volumes of concern edged in the depths of her voice. She stood in the doorway, poised and regal in the streams of tarnished light. She was a vessel of flawless beauty, untouched by age, a glimpse of his past-a visage of true strength and humanity that Steve desperately fought to preserve in the dwindling moments scraping against him.

Peggy crouched down at his side, placing her delicate hands tentatively over his bare chest; easing the traction of pain with pooling heat of her promising touch. She looked down at him, flares of solemn hope evident in her rich brown eyes, and unspoken relief that she wasn't going to let the arising darkness embrace him. It was a sense of logical guidance."You must pull yourself together. We need you to be strong, Captain."

"I'm trying, Peggy," Steve gasped throatily, sucking back pants of breath. His hands balled into rigid fists; meandering pain coursed through his veins, perhaps unknowingly that he tasted the spite of defeat, the absence of mortal strength was draining out of him in each failing moment that passed. "I'm trying, but I don't know how long I can keep going."

Peggy dismissed those irreverent words, and firmly grasped his hand, interlocking her fingers into strong bond of assurance, and stared into his feverish azure eyes. "You are meant for great things in our world, but you lacking faith within yourself, Steve. Tie down your fears and face the storm with the real strength that didn't come from the serum."

The words sank into Steve's mind as though they had been branded there, and he gripped her entwined fingers tightly in his own, cherishing the feeling of her steadfast presence at his side. "Til I die, I will fight it," he vowed, his hoarse voice firm, despite the dominating pain that erupted in his raw throat as he spoke out his repeated declaration. "I will fight it, Peggy."

He reclaimed all measures of dwindling strength, and managed to grasp onto Peggy's hand reaching out to pull him back up; he languished into chaotic heart of a merciless storm of endless white for moment; but a familiar tug on his shoulder prevented him was sinking further into an everlasting void.

"Hey man," A gentle clutch of a firm compressed heat against his bare, rigid shoulder.

Responding to the familiar voice, Steve opened his eyes halfway. The lights from outside glowed in crescents of azure as he tried to adjust to the dark shadow of his lashes that broke the world into blurring remnants of memory. Sam was crouching at the captain's side, his dark eyes heavy with unshed tears, and face revealed evidence of his own struggle to maintain residual peace.

"How are you holding up?" Sam asked and there was edge of distress in his low voice.

Steve's throat felt dry and raw, but he managed to speak clearly enough to respond. "The curse doesn't have me on the ropes just yet," he countered in a raspy voice, inflecting pulses of anguish settled in his chest. "Are we heading out?"

"Affirmative, Cap," Sam returned evenly, pressing his wrist comm, radioing in the elusive archer who had been in position on the rooftop across from the rotting apartment building they had deemed as a safe house.

"Barton do you copy, I have Cap in here with me...and a small child. Steve is losing a lot of blood. I need a clear path to bring him to the acquire transportation Stark offered for our direct escape route...And we need medic attention." Frantic paces of breath caught in his lungs; his hand firmly gripped the super-soldier's wrist, checking the irregular pulse. "I don't know how much longer Steve will hold out!"

There was static crackling in the device which made frequency was unclear. _"Blood loss...Not a good sign...I'll keep my eyes sharp and clear a path for you and Cap..."_

"Thanks, Clint," Steve said throatily, feeling compelled to say something despite the pain in doing so. He seemed to always be falling into a greater debt of gratitude towards his loyal companions, though he was certainly not complaining. He crunched his abdomen, muscles constricted as he recalled strength to fuse his biceps in those seconds he lifted his sculpted torso off the floor.

Steve couldn't deny that his dependence on Sam and Clint Barton was necessary in order for him to stay off the tipping edge of the knife HYDRA's control was wielding. He had to hold onto some measure of hope. Emitting out a frustrated groan, the captain forced up a few words before lucid agony struck him down again. Grimacing, Steve heaved out a heated breath, his eyes watered. He had to finish the transmission. One last time. "I really appreciate it. Stay safe, Barton."

"Okay, Cap," Sam interrupted mindfully taking a moment to search through the haze of darkness; he planted his hand firmly on Steve's blemished shoulder. His heart sank when he noticed splotches of blood dejecting from Steve's lips paling and staining his bruised jaw, dribbling over his bare skin. "We're going to do this nice and easy," he whispered, sternly, and placed his hand into the center planes on Steve's back, listening to the rasps of breath. "My hand is going to support your weight when you're ready to stand."

"Alright," Steve affirmed, grimacing as he moved all his muscles to get their feel again. His legs were undamaged, but they ached terribly and felt very heavy. His shoulder and arm throbbed with a dull but still very present pain, and it seemed to spread any time he moved.

Drawing out laboring exhales, Steve instantly rein his bulky mass upwards, abdominal muscles crunched and bones jolted against a wave of freakish spams coursing through him. He felt his heartbeat accelerating into rapid paces, a stream of red coated the chiseled indents of his whitened pectorals, and his stomach took a plunged and then rebounded when strained volumes of cries erupted from the back of his he refused to let any ailment keep him from doing what was required of him, and very slowly, he made his shaky limbs rise from the ground.

"It hurts..." He screamed, shuttering with unstable and violent movements, pushing Sam against a wall with his thrashing arm, the tendrils of the curse were surging through him, devouring his strength and making him spray out blood onto to the floor.

Everything was a swirl of confusion as Steve tried so hard to focus, to get out of this maddening state of half-awareness. The curse's effects were making it nearly impossible for him to do or think anything clearly, but the darkness and pain were severe enough to keep him fighting for escape-for any kind of relief. His body would not cooperate as the pain thrashed through his limbs, and his mind was desperate for something to cling to amid the flood.

Trepidation receded in Sam's veins, leaving a throbbing relief; he momentary stared into Steve's crystalline azure eyes filled with intense energy of defiance, almost like lightning pierced through murky cloudiness of dread that overtook his fractured thoughts, entrenched by dark shadow of HYDRA threatening to consume his body within the last hours of early morning.

When Steve forced himself to regain stability in his muscular legs, the evidence of his demise became written over his colorless features. He barely looked alive, he was changing into a ghostly visage; a shattered reflection of the commanding and resilient countenance of Captain America.

As Sam eased the paces of excretion momentary; he vaguely sensed that Steve was gradually fading into further into the hold of the curse, almost on his last throes of humanity.

There was a mere chance to restore the damage, to fight instead of running back into the shadows, Steve never backed down, he always found a way to pick himself up, and regain the amount of courage to ignite risk of claiming victory. They couldn't turn back, and allow more people to endure a new form of warfare against humanity; they had to take a stand no matter how high the cost.

Feeling the rapid decrease of the temperature in his blood, Sam found his resolve, staring at the eroded shield he'd recovered from the alleyway-the last defense against the sadistic minds of HYDRA. "Steve, you've got to stay with us, man. The fight isn't over."

The words sounded slurred to Steve's ears, and instead, he seemed to only hear a low, mixed chaos. His vision was foggy too, and it did not become any sharper even when his body had fully adjusted to a standing position. He could hardly feel his legs at all, and nearly every pound of his weight was dependent on Sam. His thoughts seemed to be constantly fighting, _fighting_ off some foreign host which was rapidly possessing his body.

None of what his senses reported was concise or clear. His mind was drowning.

"Steve, it's just a few steps to the door," Sam confirmed firmly, trying to reassure his weakened friend. He draped Steve's arm over the back of his neck, hauling him along his stiff body. Steve's feet trawled across the floorboards, with much effort as he managed; reclaiming a sturdily balance. Each time, he extended or pressed a boot onto the floor, his muscles would grow rigid and he collapses his full weight onto Sam, he seethed repeatedly through clenched teeth. The unexpected spasm forced his calve to restrict, flooding with heat, he couldn't move. Sam kept him steady."Lean on me, I'm not gonna to let to fall. We're doing this together."

Steve could offer little physical movement, but he did all he could to help Sam support the weight of his sagging body as they both moved toward the door. His consciousness threatened to collapse for lack of blood flow to his already taxed brain, but he managed to keep awake as he and Sam finally passed through the doorway. His zoning blue eyes darted around for the transportation that Sam had mentioned, but he could see nothing clearly through the red haze before his vision. He relied wholly on Sam as he stumbled forward.

Silence greeted them outside, softness of the falling snow created eeriness in the alleyway, only the caress of streetlight revealed a narrow path leading to a vacant parking lot. Sam locked his forearm over Steve's drenched back as he remained pliant and observant against residual threats, but it was difficult. Curtains of harsh squalls of snow obstructed his blurring vision, as he trudged closer to the secured area, coldness bit into his exposed skin uncovered by the layers of his jacket; his eyes watered as wind swept over his raw cheeks.

He breathed a steady pant of breath, grinding his teeth, clenching the muscle of his jaw and ripped through the heavy snowfall, holding Steve close against his body and even through it was exhausting carrying a 240 pound mass of bulk down the sidewalk. He kept his gaze intently focus, alert as they reached a black pick up marked with a red dot. Clint was obviously, using an arrow to point them in them in the right direction. "Stay with me, Steve," he urged firmly, his dark eyes set on Steve's paling face. "We're almost there..."

The bite of cold air from the frigid outdoors helped to rouse Steve's mind a bit, and he put all his effort into moving in the direction Sam guided. The sidewalk felt like it rested on a floating island amid a stormy sea, each step so unsteady that he even with Sam at his side, standing upright was very difficult. But Steve knew he was making headway, and as the snow lazily fell onto his burning forehead and sweating limbs, his breathing grew a bit steadier, and the burning sensation of fever and pain was slightly diminished. Though the relief was minimal, Steve welcomed it gladly.

Sam winced. The weight of Steve's heavy body against his chest felt like iron, muscles strained as he advanced forward to the truck, and managed to open the passenger door. "We made it, Cap," he declared with a deep exhale of relief; easing the super-soldier down against the leather seat, then, he spared a glance on the rooftop; Clint had the little girl in the embrace of his arms as his elusive presence made descent on the wooden steps of the stairway. "The girl is safe and we have full tank thanks to Stark."

"Where are we off to?" Steve asked in a straggled voice, panting from exertion of the short walk. His body sagged into the soft leather, and he cherished the feeling of being completely at rest. He heard the car door at his side slam and then the one on the driver's side open and close before the engine revved up.

"A safe house on the outskirts of the city, Agent Hill made the arrangements...Medical supplies will be waiting for us." Sam returned in a breathless voice, gripping the steering wheel, staring in the direction of an adjacent parking lot, Clint was placing the little, unconscious girl safely in the backseat of his unmarked vehicle. Sam breathed in deeply, stressing against the blocks of tension compressing over his bones. "Clint is taking the kid to the hospital. He'll stay with her until Agent Hill can located her parents, so we're on our own again, Cap."

Steve gave a sluggish nod in affirmation. "Good. How long until we reach the safe house?" he uttered, his voice cracked and strained with lessened breath.

Battling the breach of his stern emotions, Sam mustered enough valor to stare back at his friend slumped against the leather, with a sick expression plastered over his chiseled face. Remnants of fever glowed in Steve's opaque blue eyes, listening to the captain releasing leaden breaths. The aching sense of abandonment seized in his chest, fingers clutched the wheel tighter, and his knuckles restricted against the heat flooding through his veins."If you can manage to hold it together..." Sam returned, with an uncertain pause residing in his scraped throat. "I'm guessing an hour."

Steve nodded mutely, insubordination, fighting the assailing pain coursing through his bloodstream. "Then I guess I ought to hold it together," he answered in a flat tone, his pastel lips curved into a feeble grin, before he sealed his dimming blue eyes close against the rising assault of intense flashes of white scolded through his addled mind.

Apparently, he wasn't. Sam detected the pain that Steve was reluctant to deny, underneath the confident and resilient demeanor of Captain America and the world's first super-soldier. It was hard for him to fathom, that Steve was fading under the wrath of an unknown attack that morphed him into a drooling canine in the result of being exposed to aberrant enchantment.

Watching his friend seizing in the seat, Sam's face fractured into a doleful, pained expression."How much time do we have left?" he asked, forcing the cluster of despairing words out of his dry mouth, seeking reverence in the dire moments of withholding the absence of fear back. His dark eyes lifted to the darkened sky, obstruction of snow made it difficult for him to see clusters of pink forming against the clouds. Dawn was coming. "It won't be long until daylight breaks through..."

Sam's words seemed to fade in Steve's ears as a new bout of pain assailed his body, wracking him with fiery spasm of pure torment. In the back of Steve's mind, he knew this must be an advance of the curse, but he couldn't find in himself the strength to fight it. All he could do was grasp the arm rests beside his seat, all his muscles tensing against the intense barrages of pain, and he prayed that it would abate.

The curse crawled like biting termites through his veins, testing his limits to see if he would break. Steve's teeth were gritted and his eyes were closed tightly, but nothing made it any easier to bear. Sweat trickled down his burning brow, his body was rejecting the curse but unable to eradicate its effects. It took all of Steve's will power to keep him from screaming as the pain grew more and more intense.

"Cap," Sam's voice held frantic urgency, his heart paced into shuttering halts. Everything had collapsed into a paradox of heart rendering panic. He took a firm grip on Steve's bicep, jerking the broad muscle with all resilience that pulsed in his veins, squeezing and pinning Steve against the seat while the super-soldier violently thrashed for desperate relief from the unbidden agony. Blood and tears glistened on his ashen skin, and cheeks hollowed as enraged, deafened sobs of torture erupted from his straining throat. The horrific visages of the transformation consumed Steve's body unabated, unimpeded.

"Sam!" Steve called out, unable to see even when he opened his eyes. A red tide was before his vision, and he couldn't hear anything either. His mind was slipping away, and he seemed to be falling into a darkness that nothing could penetrate. He couldn't fight it alone, and he also couldn't keep his consciousness in reality long enough to know that he had a friend at his side.

Steve's pain receptors felt like they were on fire; there was only a sharp sense of agony everywhere, and none of his sense could register anything specific. So it was that he barely noticed his body contorting under the control of the curse, his bones and muscles succumbing to the new form of a canine again.

Time had become limited. The distorted images of the Red Skull's twisted, hollow and demonic face intruded every recess of Steve's disconnected mind, thoughts run lucid as he tried to regain control, to muster every ounce of the serum and fight the delusions, the spell was gaining ground, and even Steve's mind seemed to be forced to wade through a sea of nonsensical, animal-like instincts and desires in order to simply form coherent thoughts.

"No...No..." Sam chanted repetitively in a frenzied panic; all reservations were being drained out of him, the recurring force of dread pressed against his bone. He was frozen in the seat. His rapid thoughts unable to process in those pained, harrowing moments of witnessing the super-soldier devolve into a metamorphosis that grew, dominant over his seizing muscular body. Tendrils of the ominous magic diminished Steve's enhanced strength, no longer possessing the will to fight against it.

It felt like a knife sliced through Sam's heart, twisting every layer when he stared at Steve tossing his head back and forth discharging vicious pitches of a distress. He was barely fighting the wicked enchantment; barely holding struggling with the relentless energy jolting through his bones.

Sam watched, impotent, his face draining from blood and skin turning into ice. He was clinging on his last shred of sanity. His dark eyes welled with feverish tears and heart felt like dropped into his churning stomach and dissolved.

Sensing his friend's heart-rending afflictions; Sam fumbled his hand over the passenger's door latch, and then opened it and Steve crashed onto the wet ground, thrashing wildly and emitting distressed, estranged howls of utmost pain. The bare planes of his sculpted back protruded, ridges of his spine detached under the deflating muscle.

Steve had hardly noticed his surrender to gravity; the pain flashing through his nerves made him oblivious to all else. Darkness was taking over his mind bit by bit, and now it seemed that the night had dominated. What was left of Steve's consciousness looked around desperately for any sign of life or hope, but the darkness smothered it, and all he could do was whimper-whimper like a pathetic dog?

"Sam…" Steve slammed his fists into the cement. A stab of fear penetrated through his heart. His limbs were leaden as stone. He could barely muster enough strength to hoist his body up to his full height. He blinked the grayish haze out of clouded eyes. The clear azure dulled into steel. His jaw clenched, and he caught the repulsing scent of expelled bile.

Catching the vague stench of vomit, Steve's nose crinkled, and he inhaled the gushing torrents of blood rushing in his veins...the cold reminder of defeat. His senses were enhancing.

Bewildered from the inhumane noises ripping out of his vocals, Steve tried to regain his voice, but all that managed to rip out of his throat was a harsh, toneless whine of a mauled beast.

Grasping for an intake of breath, Steve writhed viciously, and unleashed unstable growls, with blood streaking over his enlarging canines. He refused to welcome the rivaling power of the wicked flames curse, but it seeped further into his bones, merging with every ounce of serum. It reshaped his unruly, drenched limbs into shorten visages of blond fur.

"No," Steve grunted rolling into his back, his limbs dangled in the air. It was position of submission. Surrender. Defeat. He was reverting back into the canine form. A worthless and infirm heap of matted fur. "No…I don't want to become a dog again…" He crackled out a strangled protest and tried to make a stand against the variants of the morbid poison smothered his pants of breath; torrents of liquid heat coiled through decreasing bulk of refine muscle. Not being able to hold onto humanity any longer, Steve involuntary accepted the change, and then all the beautiful colors of the world faded into novelty of black and white.

"Sam Wilson, he gritted breathlessly, his flopping body crumpled into a ball, his massive paws wedged close to his aching chest and bloody jaw lengthened into a full canine muzzle as the protecting process of the agonizing transformation increased.

Within seconds, all that remain of the super-soldier was discarded pieces of his uniform and his soulful icy azure eyes.

Still, Steve had managed to execute a raw, grating confession. His frontal paw touched Sam's hand, as he spoke in a measure of reverence."You're a good friend and soldier, and I can't express my gratitude for saving me...I would be lost without you, my wing man." He closed his tearing eyes and sniffled a little, and then he found a dishearten resolve settling in Sam's glassy, reasoning eyes. "Stay strong for me..." A weak smile carved into his muzzle. The canine nature overtook him, and before he stood onto his four wobbling paws, he nudged his wet nose into Sam's frigid cheek. "...and never give up the fight."

Refusing to let him go, Sam gripped a handful of fur, pushing the husky close to him, "If you run, Cap, I will follow you," he promised with a dry sob, keeping his faith and hope alive—knowingly believing that somehow light would push the shades of darkness away. "You're not alone on this mission."

Closing his heavy-lidded eyes, Steve rested his furred muzzle on Sam's shoulder, and he listened to pounding assurance of his friend's resilient heartbeat. All fear abandoned him as he entered a moment of soothing calm.

* * *

A/N: A big thank you to all the readers, and to my talented co-writer Thalion Estel and the wonderful, and always helpful JuliaAurelia. Sorry it took so long to update, I needed a break and almost two weeks to relax and enjoy summer. Anyways, lots more angst and drama to come. Thank you and enjoy.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

* * *

{Flashback}

Blood made a slow descent on the edge of his protruded, bruised cheekbone."Let me handle this on my own, Buck," Steve wheezed in an audible protest. Vestiges of frustration were growing evident in his overused voice. He narrowed his glistening, intent azure eyes down, staring in disbelief at his frail, ailing reflection in the murky ripples of the puddle.

Feeling a momentarily feverish wave clash against his thinned stature, his wrecked body responded with a constant shiver. His angular face crumpled into a taunt, begrudging grimace that made his jutting cheekbones throb. He became aware that he was shadowed by the protective, brotherly presence of Bucky, who stood tentatively restricted behind the stair rails. "I almost had em' on the ropes," Steve forced out a labored breath. "...but I hesitated when the punches came. I won't make that mistake twice."

"Okay. You don't look all that bad, punk," Bucky spoke with a volume of reassurance in his gruff voice. His steel cobalt eyes settled on the visible gash on Steve's left cheek, blood was still aimlessly sloping over the jutting bone of his thinned jawline.

The aggrieved young man slumped his battered frame against the scuffed wood of a bottom step; his ashen-blond hair unkempt with remnants of dirt gathered in the crop tresses that hooded over his slacken forehead. His gaunt visage sometimes carried a pitiful countenance of broken chances.

Steve was in rough shape.

Bucky detected availing turmoil and utmost disgust that pulsed in Steve's veins, he also know that the little guy considered himself a burden—dead weight to be lugged around—not a sturdy muscled work horse with striking and ample of a reel screen Casanova. Steve was fair skinned and a pathetic sag of bones—nothing more than daily punching bag.

"It's going to take a bit to heal, but you'll manage tough guy." Bucky assessed in a disgruntled tone, lifting his hand, and jerked Steve's bony shoulder, making the brittle layer of muscles loosen in the wake of his assuring touch. "You'll manage, Stevie."

"I could've won that fight, Buck," Steve protested in a wince, he swiped his sleeve over his split and puffy lip, removing the smear of blood. He hated tasting the defeat trickling down his raw throat, and feeling infirm and belittled by the neighborhood pack of brutes that targeted him as their daily punching bag. Steve was puny and slim, but his spirit was fierce and unyielding. Sometimes, his large heart made him willingly sacrificed himself to spare another kid in the schoolyard from receiving a dosage of punches in the back alleyways.

He never ran, always tried to stand his ground, even when his back was pinned to the wall, he never lost his indomitable defiance. Groaning as his battered muscles coiled in protesting tension, he clenched his jaw, trying to act indifferent against the intrusion of pain that overtook his frail body. He wheezed out a ragged breath; lungs constriction in his narrow chest, rib bones were visual under his overly large white shirt that barely clung to his knobby limbs. "There were just two of them..."

Bucky leveled his intense steel-blue eyes on the little guy, the fullness of his lips curled into a disapproving grimace. "How long are you gonna keep on taking those punches, Stevie?"

His brotherly gaze downcast over the gash, and he shook his head, finding it utterly troublesome to put his life and dreams on hold because he valued the promise he had made to Sarah Rogers of being Steve's guardian, and never once asked for anything in return.

It was his sweat and caring heart that gave the little guy a chance to live a decent life; his paycheck paid the hospital bills and stocked the cupboards with canned goods, even though it was meager time to survive.

Staring down at the indisposed teenager, Bucky took in a deep, unsated breath of compliance. "Those jerks are three times your size, you're lucky enough that you survived this fight..."

Steve sighed, dismally looking down at the cube of ice wrapped in a cloth. "It doesn't matter, Buck." he eventually returned with an ambivalent voice; setting his narrow jaw into a firm clench of defiance against reason. "I'll keep on fighting every day to prove to them that..."

A straggled wheeze tore through his lungs and his chest riddled with pain. He refused to reveal the thralls of his illness to Bucky, he wanted some measures of hope to kindle inside his weakened heart. He wanted to prove that his frail body had a purpose that even the little guys could fight for something they believed in, even though people's false hope cut them down. "...I can be strong against the bullies."

"You're strong," Bucky commended without a pitch of hesitation evident in his gruff voice. His fingers flexed over the layer of muscle on Steve's shoulder, tentatively aware of his strength. He continued the task of dabbing a cube of melting ice onto the opened crescent gash underneath Steve's right eye.

Keeping his intent stare focused on the diminished expression that suddenly veiled over his best friend's rawboned features. His stomach roiled into knots, as he watched treks of blood slop over Steve's slit lip. "You just need to stay clear of the busted alleyways, okay?"

"No," Steve disagreed, regarding his friend obstinately. "If I back down from a fight, then some other guy will just take my place." He made an ineffectual effort to crack his paled knuckles, allowing his stubborn benevolence to fuel his strength. "I'm not gonna to stand away from the danger and watch another kid take a hit for me. I have to face my battles on my own..." He paused and managed to shrug. Bucky stared at his indifferent countenance, and found embers of strength kindling beyond the haze of suffering. "And just survive long enough to take a stand for someone else, Buck."

Bucky tore his gaze away, and heaved out a frustrated breath. "Steve, I can't stand and watch you get hurt, a few more punches and you're done for, punk,"

"And I can't stand and watch bullies have their way," Steve countered defiantly. "I can take the punches, Bucky. I have to; I couldn't live with myself if I knew I should do what was right—stop injustice—but like a coward held back. I'd value my honor above my health any day. Don't you understand that?" The question was not made maliciously; Steve meant it as a genuine inquiry. He wanted Bucky to understand, to see why he had to do things this way.

"You're unbelievable," Bucky scoffed, his fingers carted through his dark locks, and his jaw clenched into a taut grimace. "I'm trying to keep you safe, and you want to become Brooklyn's punching bag," his voice leveled into a firm edge, and his intent blue eyes bored into Steve's skull. He felt a blaze of defiance ignite in his chest; he had to become the one to keep Steve standing on solid ground, even though the little guy didn't understand; it was his promise."I value your life more than your stubborn ways of proving yourself to those jerks."

Steve's eyes grew downcast and he looked down at his feet. "Do you think this is just about me proving a point?" he asked, still not meeting his friend's gaze. "This isn't about me winning, Buck. This is about what's right. I know you care and you want me safe, and I appreciate it. But I need you to fight with me on this one, not against me. I would rather have your support than your pity."

"Well, you're not gonna get nothing from me if you keep letting those Jersey hogs beat you up," he dismissed in a ragged breath; reaching for another cube of ice from the glass on a step, and then gently dabbed it over Steve's bruised cheek. "I mean it, Stevie; you don't carry the grit to fight..." His stared adjoined with Steve's hardened eyes, fire stirred in deep hues of stormy blue; dominant and piercing. "I know what happens if you push yourself too far...These guys just wanna rile you up and bring you down."

"And that's why I can't stand around, doing nothing," Steve insisted, saddling Bucky with another defensible protest. "Otherwise, their view of me would be true."

"Their view on you," Bucky grumbled in an irate breath. Fixing his unnerved gaze on the remnants of maroon collected on the wooden steps. Heaviness crept over his broad features. His hand recoiled back as he leveled his stare down at Steve's gaunt and hollowed face. "You're acting stupid..." He paused, recovering his voice. "Okay maybe not stupid, but definitely narrow-minded when it comes to being Brooklyn's first saint who doesn't get respect...Just a lot of bloodied noses.

Steve let out a long sigh and shook his head, wiping away the bit of blood still on his chin. "Well, what would you do?" he asked after a moment of thick silence. "If you were me, would you run—really run away just because the bullies were bigger than you?"

"This is different, Steve," Bucky dismissed, rawness of his words scraped against his throat. "It's not about your size...You're sick and I keep on reminding myself that you'll get better—eventfully—but you see, I made a promise to your Ma, that you would always be safe under my shadow..." He paused, and felt a prick of tears sting in his eyes. "I can't keep that promise up, unless you stop pretending that you're brave enough to face bullies alone, not when you can't even put your sickness on the ropes."

The comment stung, and Steve ducked his head down, trying to find something—anything—to focus his eyes on instead of Bucky's gaze. The idea that his closest friend, his brother, didn't think him brave enough to stand up was just another weight for Steve to carry.

"I may never be strong," he finally admitted, swallowing the unbidden emotion that tightened his throat. "But I hope someday I can be brave. And that'll never happen while I sit on the sidelines, Buck. I know you made a promise, and I appreciate your concern—really, I do—but I have to make my own decisions. Fight my own battles. Don't try to be my captain, Bucky. If I am too weak to do anything else, just let me take responsibility for myself."

Bucky drew out a pained breath, filled with half-hearted disdain. He masked the uncertainty with a brush of defiance evident in his voice."Nah...We're in this war together, little punk. You're never alone when I've got your back." His lips curved into a feeble smile, but he shared a weighted look with Steve—a burdened stare, as undeniable as he tried to hide it.

There was common ground between them. He wanted Steve to breathe easy; to feel accepted and finally make something of his life that didn't involve squaring his indomitable, headstrong resilience with the street corner bullies. "Look, I know it hasn't been easy for you these last couple of months, spending a week's time in the hospital, but you've come through...You're Sarah's champ...One day you'll figure out how much strength you do hold, Stevie."

Steve felt a very small smile prick at the corners of his mouth, but he brushed it away with a sigh. He might always be understood by his friend, but in the end, he was usually encouraged. This, he supposed, was one of those times, and he was grateful for it.

"I hope so, Bucky," he said at last, breath hitched from his narrow chest. "I hope so."

Even though, Bucky didn't show evidence of a relieved smile assailing over his lips; the blue in his grayish irises held a flare of defiance against the darkening days ahead of them. He was prepared to face it head on with Steve as his shadow. "Hey," he whispered, gripping little guy's shoulder, his thumb pressed gently on the jutting collar bone.

"I'll let ya in on a little secret." Steve snorted lightly; knowing that somehow his best friend would make a joke to ease his dispirited heart. Bucky grinned and leveled his adjoining stare at Steve. "There's not a kid in Brooklyn that's' got the right kinda stuff that you do, punk." He whipped the piece of melting ice out of his chilled palm and swallowed. "You're special little guy...Yeah you make my life miserable...but you also keep me steady on my feet. That's all I'm gonna to say."

"Thanks, Buck," Steve said after a moment, his thin lips curving into a small smile. "But you know I couldn't be anything without you. Thanks." With a sigh, Steve shook his head and let out a small chuckle. "And to prove I mean it..." Steve dug into his pocket, his fingers touching the cool metal of several coins "...I'll even buy you a milkshake. What do you say, jerk?"

"Nah, keep your change and buy yourself some good shoes without newspaper stuffing," Bucky returned lightly; straightening his posture into a stance of defiance. He sternly fixed his grayish blue eyes on Steve and sighed with discontent. With an effortless squeeze of his hand, he clutched Steve's flimsy arm into a solid grip; pulling the little guy away from the stairs. "C'mon, you brave little punk," he said securing his arm over Steve's bony shoulders; leading him slowly out of the alleyway."I'm buying you a cola with lots of ice."

Steve rolled his eyes, but he smiled and complied. "Thanks," he said quietly as he followed his friend—his brother—towards the open road. "I guess I can't argue with everything you say, Bucky Barnes," he added with a mischievous chuckle.

"Never stopped you before," Bucky chimed back, offering him a free smile. He looked down at Steve's busted lip and sighed. "Do me a favor would you?"

"I'm not gonna to help you get a pretty dame for dancin', Buck," Steve snorted, at his friend's attempt to reel him back into another humiliating date. "If that's what you're askin'? Cause it's not gonna happen."

"What and miss out on all the fun?" Bucky jabbed back, lightly, jerking Steve into a hearty embrace, until the blond gave him a passive stare. "Jeez, relax, I was only gonna ask if you want go back to the apartment and clean up a bit. Seeing how I'm a class act with the dames, it wouldn't be fair to have you looking this pathetic."

"Bucky—" Steve drew out an abashed breath. He smirked discreetly, setting his inquisitive blue eyes on the broken shards; belonging to a whiskey bottle that someone had unappreciatedly smashed on the ground. A vivid reminder of his last venture at the bar that ended with Bucky winning a fist fight. "I'm not fallin' for that again."

"I'm just trying to bring light to your day...Tell you what, you go back to our place and I'll pick up somethin' to eat from the diner, cause I know you haven't been eating a thing of what I got stashed in the cupboards." he inquired with a testy rasp wavering in his stern baritone. "Steve, you gotta eat, little punk, don't worry about me, I'm bigger than you. Besides, it wouldn't hurt for me to lose a couple of pounds."

Steve swallowed thickly, feeling a lump of clotted air constrict in his lungs, it grew into a stabbing pain, but he refused to admit it. He'd done enough weekly visits to the hospital, and Bucky's pockets were becoming empty because he couldn't brush off his illness.

For a moment, he couldn't breathe, his youthful complexion morphed into a sallow coloring and his eyes watered. "Don't worry about me..." He splayed his hand over his chest in a slow motion to break the clog that solidified in his ribs. "I've got more than enough to survive on, Buck," he admitted in a modest tone, his lips stifling into a grace of a smile. "I just want to give somethin' back."

Bucky arched up an eyebrow. "What Steve, you've got barely enough clothes on your back, your health could be terminal...and you don't have a good wage to finish art school. So tell me what do you want to give back?"

Steve lifted his chin, defiantly. "I dunno, maybe I could help more people out like my Ma used to at the Red Cross." He released a shuttering breath, holding back his gathered tears. "She told me once that savin' a life is one of the greatest deeds you can do for someone." He wanted to refine his life, not allow his constant aliments to set him off course. He had so much to give even though he knew his time was spent. "My dad was a hero on the battlefield; he saved countless lives, so why can't I do the same, Buck?"

"Okay," Bucky drew up an irate hitch of breath. "I guess we can find you somethin' that doesn't involve trench warfare..." He paused for a moment, biting on his lip before his mind centered on a recalled faint memory. "You know they're looking for a dish washer at the church's soup kitchen. We can look into that if you want? I'm not saying it's the best thing for you, but you'll be helping folks out. Who knows, you might even save a life."

Steve nodded mutely, looking up at friend's bright azure eyes, sincerely. "Can you promise me that if you ever need savin' that you will allow me to do it?"

The gravity in Steve's words seemed expected, but somehow it hit Bucky deep; he stood at the edge of the sidewalk, almost faltering a step back. He was looking down at his best friend who had believed that a couple of kids from Brooklyn might do the impossible if they stuck together—brothers who fought together and would die together.

It was a heartfelt promise that Bucky didn't allow to venture from his lips, not when a fool's hope gripped him to the bone. He wasn't even sure that it was meaningful, but when he cast another glance at Steve, he realized that he didn't live a day without a friend—a little brother—who could prove him wrong when he felt lost and uncertain of which path in life to follow.

He smiled brightly. "So I guess that means you're stuck with me until the end of the line, huh?" He guided the little guy down the busy street; supporting Steve's flimsy weight against his broad shoulder as they walked in confidence; following the clear sunlight; both strong and defiant as they were meant to be in their parents' eyes. Although his stubbornness wouldn't admit it, Bucky knew that he found his strength in a scrawny asthmatic named Steven Rogers.

* * *

A/N: A huge thank- you goes out to my marvelous co-writer, editor and the wonderful JuliaAurelia.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

* * *

There were asylums that held nightmares; the silent reproach of phantoms emerging from the fathomless depth of the cold ice; graves carved with stone, cells of rust and decay. It was dark place of the vulnerable mind, no light—a paradox that led to no escape from the constant prick of dread loitering in the lanced out hearts of a few good men who battled with their demons when shadows of past recalled them back into the darkness.

As he tasted metallic tainting his tongue; Steve felt the obstruction of weight of blankets crushing against his ribs; laden iron that seared heat through his riddled boned as he tried to writhe. Pain erupted in his disused muscles, fleeting sensations of coldness faded into a combustion of feverish warmth; he was trapped within paramount of the curse-possibly entering the point of return? With his vision swimming in dark blotches, the soldier dreaded to steal a reluctant glance to purse his assumptions and vaguely tried to convince the rapid turbulence of his mind recesses that it was only a nightmare, except he felt fur sticking to his limbs. A cloak of blond, drenched, matted—disheveled. The masculine scent of vintage aftershave still wavered off the expanse of his beguiled form, potent remnants of humanity.

Sensing the immeasurable strength residing in the heart of Sam Wilson; the blond furred husky pressed his back against the rigid cushion of the passenger's seat, silent and disquiet as surges of pain merged in his shortened limbs. Acceptance was all Steve had left to carry on with the morbid enchantment. He had become a victim of HYDRA's sadistic and immoral tortures of sentencing a human to endure a lifetime inside a pathetic vessel of a canine.

After braving his soul to feel high measures of anguish, muscles tearing and the absence of his fighting spirit being devoured by every throe of the curse—Steve had to face the grim truth; Captain America no longer existed in the eyes of humanity -the timeless soldier from Brooklyn was dead. He was destined to become a forgotten ghost that would drift in the shadows of his friends.

His beautiful and stalwart girl—his Peggy would spend her last days alone inside the nursing home's intensive care and she would look for him; waiting for that promised dance that never started back in 1945. If Steve survived the full effect of the curse, some young family would finally adopt him and he would receive a chance to share their moments of happiness.

_Peggy was there, standing in front of his dresser. The flex of her lithe fingers coiled over the strap attached to his helmet. She knew how he thought, the rations of his defining choices when battle called him back to the front lines. Shifting on her pointed heels, she effortlessly resumed her guarded stance, fighting a toil of emotions to regard the broad expanse of his thickened, bare chest, utterly perfection in her reservations._

_Temptation riddled in her veins, but she refused that hungry surge of dominating control, no matter how much it seized against her heart. Now, wasn't the right time for irrational compromise; HYDRA was nearly at their doorstep and she would be improper to engage the youth, bronze skinned Adonis with a collision of equal passion._

_"You know the drill, Captain," she spoke with measure of firm ease, her cherry lips pulled into strict line, and dark eyes leveled at his azure orbs. Ignoring the glaze of heat over his pectorals, she quickly rammed the helmet directly into those ridges."Suit up and try not to kiss another _secretary,_ on the way." Steve furrowed his brow, dumbfounded by the hint of kindling jealously in her tone. She smirked faintly at his blank stare, and clicked her heels, giving him not chance to regather words."Don't you dare be late, Captain Rogers."_

_"Peggy," Steve called back, brushing loose tresses of blond off his brow, he paced after her in one heartbeat, grasping her wrist and spun her gracelessly around until her white blouse wrinkled over his muscles._

_ He was so close to her; fairy__ adjoined to her protesting body, enticing heat pulsed through his veins, but there was evened balance. A sense of acceptance that never steered him away. He wanted to crush her lips with a searing and loving kiss, but hesitation irked him falter back._

_ "I was gonna to tell you that you look very...Nice..." He swallowed down his timidness."I mean beautiful-"_

_She arched up an eyebrow perfectly, and brisked a step back, placing her hands on the curves of her hips. She wasn't taking any of his boyish-Brooklyn charm. She wanted him to be real again, the scrawny peg of bones that she noticed in the recruitment lines. After dismissing out a frustrated breath, she granted her distance from his tentative, and steady blue eyes. Too much distraction. Those images of that brazen, and seducing office mistress devouring his beautiful, full lips made envious flares vent in her heart. With a slight shake of her head, unsatisfied, she moved to the doorway."You still have no bloody idea how to talk to a woman, Captain."_

_Steve pressed his lips shut, nearly biting his tongue. He had been told, and for a moment he felt the little guy quivering inside. He cast a feverish stare at her curvaceous and elegant silhouette, the fullness of her chocolate ringlets, while he felt __a wave of flushing heat, as it slashed over his masculine, chiseled face. A grace of a smile tugged at his lips; knowing that their raw connection would grew into something devoted."Boy," he caught his breath, throwing the helmet onto his cot."How did Bucky make this so easy?"_

* * *

A sudden prick of pain flared up on his sweaty back, the result of contact falsely telling his nerves that injury was being done him. Steve was vaguely aware that someone was gently touching him, but his mind couldn't seem to focus on who it could be or why they would have their hand on him. His fried nerves continued to lace burning pain throughout his back, and his canine instincts caused a low growl to emit from his clenched teeth. He tried to shift away, but he was weak and weary, unable to find the will in him to move.

The hand never whisked away from him, and Steve had a far off, unclear notion that he shouldn't want it to go away. But the curse was eating away at his reason, and again he gave a quiet snarl as a brute reaction to the unknown source of pain.

_He felt directionless in his faltering paces, going nowhere, as his motorcycle boots sunk into the damp moist spots of fresh mud. Drizzling cascades of the morning sleet pelted against his bomber jacket; __blond tresses of his unkempt hair fell sloppily over his furrowed brow into a harden crease, as he trudged pass eroded ruins of tombstones; discarded planks of wooden crosses that once had formed a respectable marker, honoring the presence of a nameless soldier._

_A cluster of red poppies entwined, giving the grave a sense of remembrance for the sacrifice that laid in the unsettled ground. With much effort , Steve pushed onward, harboring determination in his paced strides, roving his uncertain gaze over the contrast of darkness looming the small, neglected cemetery._

_Paleness of predawn's light caressed over his sharpened features, as he stood there in silent mourning; grayness cast in the depth of his azure eyes, hardened a with contrast of unsettled guilt. Then, he felt her presence encroaching closer, the lavish scent of rose petals wavered from her curly brown ringlets, he took a moment, deciding to turn around and face her, while trying to abate the thralls of cowardice. A frown carved into his lips, and his fingernails knived his palms. He was frozen. Every time his mind became plagued with memories of HYDRA's inhuman experimentation projects he witnessed; it became harder to fight the disturbing truth, struggle to cope with alone._

_Emitting out a labored breath, Steve finally disarmed his fierce countenance, displaying an inkling of defeat, as each throb of pain became __recognized on his chiseled face, and he couldn't mask it. Not even for her._

_"I finally let em' beat me, Peggy," he professed in a torturous hitch, dropping his eyes to the lush red poppies shadowing over his boots. "I took the killing blow and fell..." He sucked back a breath, reminding himself the damage he caused, the losses he will endure, if he finally gives into the curse. It wasn't a fight of victory, his shield couldn't protect him; and the serum was dwindling into reserved substance that would absorb into his lesser mass of bulk."By any right I deserve it. I haven't kept my promise and now I feel like I'm losing my strength. I failed everyone, because I just wanted to prove that was strong enough to win."_

_"Perhaps that's the source of your trouble, Steve," Peggy's sharp but sweet voice stated from behind, her presence drawing nearer but still not right at the soldier's side. "You have trusted in yourself alone. Do you think that you-one man-have enough to take on the full force of evil?"_

_Steve's head drooped down in defeat, but he then felt a hand rest lightly on his shoulder, his companion's soft words warming his cold atmosphere. "That's not how it worked in the War, Captain Rogers. Why do you think you can triumph alone now? You were always supported by something bigger than yourself or any of us. That's what made your men look up to you in the first place: you believed in something transcending all this. Do you still believe in that, Captain America?"_

_"That's not who I am today, Peggy..." he admitted invariability, clenching his fists. "It's kinda hard to believe yourself when you can't even fight for those who our closest to you..."_

_He stole a glance at the woman he loved, knowing that she expected him to carry on the fight...To prove that the kid from Brooklyn still existed. He couldn't accept her faith in him, not when HYDRA made him yield. "__Being Captain America gave me a calling to avenge, to have a chance to save lives and prove to the little guys that they were strong against the bullies..." He emitted a hollow breath, laced with frustration."Now, I feel that it doesn't matter anymore."_

_"Doesn't matter?" Peggy questioned softly, her chocolate eyes searching Steve's expressing with a mixture of pity and determination. "HYDRA's curse is not just upon you, Steve. It's effects are widespread, and what you feel today is but a shadow of what would come about if the evil is not stopped. Disaster is on the horizon, and in fact some has already dawned. You know that you do not suffer this burden alone; others bear it even now. Your friends bear it now, Steve. Doesn't that matter to you?"_

_"I was once told that if you can consciously admit defeat, you have proven that you can still will something. And if you can still will, you can still fight. And Steve..." she drew closer, her hand straying to his and clasping it tightly. "Captain, if you can still fight, you can still win."_

_Her words struck him. Feeling her fingers intertwine with his own, it was enough reassurance that could be a calm against the arising storm. When Steve met her gaze, stared deeply into her eyes, he __realized everything he had been fighting for; no matter what the outcome of his choices, there would always be with a price against the value of his undefeated heart._

_For a while, Steve trained his blue eyes on the grave, intent and driven by pulses of determination that hadn't been doused. The wooden cross was a remainder of a price that had been written in blood, a promise that could never be broken no matter how much evil tried to blacken it._

_Despite having pieces of his humanity stripped, he still had a heart and a indomitable soul that could never become corrupted by the will of debased power. Captain America never surrendered, he always found a way to beat the odds, somehow with the strength of unmeasurable faith he would again.__"If I can't fight for my own freedom, I can sure fight for Bucky's life...and that's more important to me than anything, Peggy."_

_"That sounds a bit more like the captain I know," Peggy said, a small grin pulling at her red lips. "Promise me you won't give up, Steve," she said more softly. "I need you to be strong; Bucky needs you to be strong. There are many who rely on you; promise me you won't give up on them."_

_How could he make a vow to her? He had broken his promise to meet her at the Stork Club, he couldn't let more people down; not when everything he once fought for, all the lives he saved by the measures of his virtuous strength were becoming erased, and although he wouldn't admit it, he was tasting defeat._

_Emitting a heavy sigh, Steve forced out the gravity of his sentiment towards his pledge while trying to ease the qualm in his chest. "How can a make that promise Peggy?" he spoke in a low pitch volume, it almost wavered into a broken plea. The curse was drawing him closer to the breaking point, he couldn't even trust himself; how did his friends expect him to fight HYDRA, if the balance of his limitations seemed unpredictable in the hellish nightmare he was facing. Those doubts left him reeling.__"You know it's not gonna to be easy to fight this war. I'm not Captain America anymore...I don't even think I'll be strong enough to carry the shield."_

_"You can always promise to keep fighting," she answered, her voice full of sorrow but still containing a distant flame of hope just like her shining eyes. "I'm not asking you to win, Steve. No one can be sure of victory. But you can fight. Even when you were a defenseless runt in Brooklyn, you still never gave up, never ran away from a fight. Be that kid again, Steve. The world needs your endurance much more than it needs your strength."_

_As he listened to spark of fire in her coaxing voice, Steve raised his jaw defiantly, and cast a mirrored stare into her dark eyes with __steadiness, almost holding a raw measure of fierceness within the shades of azure melding in his irises.__ He felt the embers of strength returning, each pulse of the serum gave him the assurance that he had fighting chance to beat the odds, to end HYDRA's curse that was on the verge of encasing his unyielding soul into a dormant state._

_He wouldn't allow that jab __of failure to steer him off course. He was the indomitable and noble-hearted Captain America, ever so vigilant and the soldier of prevailing freedom. Nothing would strip his hope away, not even if he fully morphed into a dog; his resilient spirit and faith would remain everlasting. That's what he needed to believe in again, not the strength of the serum, but inner vitality which HYDRA couldn't douse with evil. Looking into Peggy's eyes, Steve pulled a weak frown on his lips, and then he drew out a heavy breath, reasoning with the approach of denial. "Can I still fight in this war even if I got fur and a tail, Peg?"_

_A sly smile tugged at Peggy's red lips, and she looked Steve in the eyes and answered him with a hint of mirth. "If I know you, Steve, then that fur and tail won't hinder you one bit; they just may spur you on to fight harder than ever. You just have to make up your mind to keep going no matter what."_

_Steve returned Peggy's smile and slowly pulled her closer. His hand strayed across her cheek, lightly pushing aside some of her waving, chocolate hair. Her eyes shone now with love as much as determination, and he wished he could look into them forever._

_"I can't promise that I'll be everything you hope I can be, Peggy," he told her softly. "But I will try."_

_"And that's all I can ask of you, Steve," Peggy returned, her eyes misting over slightly so that the light reflected off them. "Just keep fighting."_

_"I will," he said, closing his eyes and leaning forward to kiss her cheek lightly. Her warmth seemed to surround him for one moment of bliss. For that second, there was no HDYRA, no curse, and no war. There was just Peggy, steadfastly standing with him._

_But that moment only lasted for a small amount of time, and then the vision before Steve began to fade, being swallowed by a coldness and darkness. His arm reached out for Peggy, but she vanished before his eyes, no matter how loudly he called her name. Slowly his mind was engulfed by a night without stars, and then he lost consciousness._

* * *

"Easy Cap," the cadence of Sam's voice held a measure of escaped reassurance. He felt the strained muscles of his chest growing heavier, struggling to maintain a steady pace of breath, as the prick of cold morning air settled against his bones. The husky had deemed the backseat as his makeshift bed, his disheveled furred body curled against the leather cushioned seating that offered him a wall of support.

A musty smelling blanket cloaked over Steve's protesting muscles, while his feverishly, mattered pelt appreciated encompassing warmth it provided, even though he was absent in a distorted state. His eyes were glued shut from torturous exhaustion; the sourness in his roiling stomach refused to purge the constant aches of restrained hunger. He felt utterly immobilized, distressed from the dire effects of the curse. All his rational thoughts failed to conceive of what it seemed like an inevitable fate. Darkness had completely enveloped him again; dragging him back into the void as the urgency of his friend's voice faded through the ragged, torn pants of breath.

The pain still throbbed throughout his body, but Steve's mind was beginning to dull to the sensation. Instead, his canine instincts were kicking in and starting to command survival-oriented action. He was hurt, he was hungry, and he needed a secure place to recover. There was almost no conscious thought or real plan as Steve moved his legs to attempt to stand, still oblivious to his surroundings. Fire raced across his nervous system as he slightly shifted his position, and the burden on his muscles quickly became too much for him. He gave up the short-lived attempt in utter defeat, a quiet whimper being the only action his miserable body could successfully accomplish.

Even though his human understanding and emotions were quickly disintegrating in what remained of his mind, the weight of misery was so strong on him that he could still feel the mental anguish of it, despite being an irrational dog.

Reacting by instinct, the dog managed to open his blue eyes into slits. He looked at the hazy shape of something larger than himself obstructing his view, unclear as snow caressed his dampen fur. It took a few moments to regain enough focus. With a glint of timidness shining in his muddled gaze, he unraveled his limbs from the blankets, and lurched forward as he tried to attack. He emitted out a raw and feral growl amidst the thralls of his pain."...Go-Go away..."

"Not gonna to happen, Cap," Sam responded, not accepting the husky's searing protest. His voice seemed hoarse as cold air filled in his lungs, but the swell of determination riddled in his throat. With an effortless gesture of his gloved hand, he carefully removed the blanket that was twisted over Steve's hind paw. "You need to keep it together, Steve, we've reached the safe house." His eyes watered as a frigid rush of air lashed over his tensed face, looking at the reduced form of the super-soldier made his heart strain, but he had to carry out the mission for Steve. "Let's just calm down," he whispered softly, "You're not acting like good old yourself at the moment..."

Utterly distressed, Steve involuntarily blanched against the seat, throwing his weight around as his bushy tail swept against the frosted window. He seethed out a ragged warning; barring his canine fangs, the disciplined forefront of his addled mind became consumed with urges to clench his taut jaw in the harrowing moment he felt trapped by the pressure of oppressive weight of the blankets.

Fighting a surge of livid release, he almost snapped with vicious intent; barely grazing Sam's gloved hand.

"Cap, it's me," Sam relented in sharp droning voice, blood rushed in his ears, he recoiled back into the brisk air. Flecks of wispy snow mixed with ice pelted his jacket. His breath morphed into desperate pitches, he stared at the snarling animal with burdened disdain welled in his dark eyes. Regardless, he refused to back down from the vicious fight, he needed to reach Steve, assuming that he only had limited time to do it. "Snap out of it," he urged, holding back the prick of tears. "I'm not gonna to hurt you, Steve."

Steve trembled feverishly, provoked by the sudden touch of intruding warmth that quickly absorbed in his fur. He could barely muster up his voice, but he forced out another throaty snarl. "Stay-Stay back," he warned thickly, feeling drool slide off his tongue and narrowed his long muzzle as he breathed. His frontal paws lifted out of the heap of blankets and he tried to restrain his sudden urge of aggression. "I know-you want to help...but it's not your fight."

"As long as you're involved, you can bet it's my fight," Sam retorted firmly, a small grin touching his face before he again assumed a sober expression. "Cap, I'm not leaving you, and I'm not going to hurt you. Please just trust me; let me help you. We can fix this."

With a slow parted of his furred lips, Steve a sigh of discontent, he felt the cool trek slope over his neck. Each time he mustered up a breath, pain seared in his lungs, and the sourness of blood grew potent. He had to prove not only to Sam, that he could beat the odds in favor to HYDRA; but also to himself that he was strong enough to fight without the protection of his shield.

He believed in certain things, as a soldier he learned how to carry the weight of guilt and missed chances. The battlefield was test of endurance against strife and chaos, it was a testament of will and strength between friends and brothers.

With every rushing torrent of hellbent adrenaline, there came the harrowing sense that when the dust settled, being alone was something to face. The emotional toll of losing Bucky to the snow chasms, it had scarred him deep, those illusions of grief didn't prevail enough to accept that grim reality.

He found a way to reach the Winter Soldier's mechanical heart, to bring his best friend out of the icy fathoms; and granted Bucky a chance to seek redemption for his past sins. Something rattled in his degraded bones; it was fusing with the serum, and haze that shrouded his canine eyes receded. He heaved out labored breath, and moved his paw effortlessly to Sam's gloved hand. With grace of soulful pressure, his furred digits reverently encompassed the man's knuckles.

With his eyes trained on the snowy obstruction ahead, Steve couldn't ignore the painful sensations rippling through him. Surges of his inner reserves of strength that melted into his rigid light azure orbs held flickers of intensity, almost catching lightning of the storm assailing through his transformed body: the unyielding and fierce gaze of Captain America.

Feeling his heart thundered wildly, Steve trained his steering resolve to the truck's carpeted floor, narrowing an intent stare at the corroded star emblem of his shield; patches of rust had spread across the alloy, it was infectious disease, even though the cure was far from his reach; Steve knew that hope could restore the curse that of HYDRA used to bench him. He wasn't backing down from the fight.

_"Relax, little guy," Bucky whispered stiffly, easing his gruff tone. His strong hand gripped Steve's bony shoulder. He never admitted his pain, not once in all the years they've been friends. He'd been strong, facing each day with Steve's illness; in his the steel tint of his blue eyes, a glint of fear rippled. It didn't last long enough for his runt of a friend to notice. "__Don't let nothin' drag you down, punk, always pick yourself up. You've got a lot to live for, Stevie."_

_Steve choked back a ragged wheeze, outstretching his quivering hand desperate to reach Bucky's arm. It took a considerable amount effort to command his __his fingers to spread apart over the other boy's shoulder. His azure eyes were bright with fever, and his ashen skin cold with residue of sweat. Still, he doesn't give up, there's a flicker of strength in his eyes. Something that wouldn't fade._

_"Thanks for always being there for me, Buck." Steve managed to stifle his paling lips into a smirk. It never lasted, a taut grimace soon replaced his tentative expression. "I just want you to know..." He swallowed, feeling liquid clog up his lungs, the pain grew__ unbearable, rasping breath felt like shards of glass scraping down his throat. He had waited for Bucky to return from afternoon shift work at nearby garage."I'm glad you came. Didn't think you'd make it."_

_Bucky leaned back against the chair, he combed his fingers through his rakish strands of brown hair, unsure how to respond. Steve caught a glimpse of an assuring, brotherly smile ghosting over Bucky's slanted lips, just enough hope to keep his heart beat steady. With a firm jerk of his hand, he never lost sight of Steve courage to fight, not once in those silent moments of allowing pain to slip away. He felt the little guy shiver, his body temperature was depleting. Still, he held onto to Steve, not letting him go."You've gotta to promise me somethin, Stevie Rogers..."_

_"Name it, Buck," Steve returned, trying to stay awake. His head was sliding off the pillow, and his sky blue eyes hazing as he struggled to regain the utmost of clarity over his friend's teary stare. It was then, that Bucky had taken Steve's frail hand into the secured clench of his rough, grease smeared fingers, squeezing them ever so tightly. _

_"Promise me that when the big guys have you on the ropes, then you'll never stand down." He roved his gaze back at Steve, grinning a little to stow the distress he'd been fighting against, he was defiant though, a strong young man who carried much of Steve's problems on his shoulders. The late Sarah Rogers had called him a saint, for sticking with her ill son and being a brother figure_—_more of the less a loyal guardian when street hogging bullies threw Steve into heaps of garbage._

_Bucky took a stand every day with the skinny kid, always defending him when trash lids were dented. There was a few stacked in the diner's alleyway. "Always fight...Even when things seem impossible, never yield back, Steve."_

He needed to feel intolerable again, and maybe a little more defiant. Everything was hanging by a thread, Bucky's freedom—humanity...Peggy's health and even his very soul. Dodging all expected failures was the only way he could purge the strongholds of the curse. If he was given a choice make the ultimate sacrifice to spare his loved ones from HYDRA's twisted future; then he would gladly offer himself for them to embrace liberty again.

"It's kinda of obvious I don't got a lot of time," Steve murmured out a calm pitch, with his devolved voice evident of the firmness of determined baritone. He reared his head up at Sam, delving in his genuine choice."For the lives of Bucky Barnes, Peggy Carter and you, I will get back up and finish our fight, whether I'll be a dog heading into battle or not, this Brooklyn soldier won't yield."

"Now, that sounds more like the Captain America I know," Sam said, hope sparking in his soul and flickering on his wind-bitten face.


	32. Chapter 32

**{Chapter 32}**

* * *

It had always been a test of defiance when engaging an undetectable threat, as a ghost operative for the KBG, Bucky was conditioned to balance his senses and become immune to the directional pull of dread. He used caution in his hushed strides, being observant to shadowed details around him, and studied the targets before composing his murderous reserves onto them. Since HYDRA morphed him into a cat on Halloween, Bucky felt off centered to his ingrained tactics and vulnerable to conceal his brutal instincts within a smaller and unequipped form.

He was downgraded because of his willed choice to deflect from their encompassing control; he didn't want to become reactivated weapon of death again. Although Bucky knew that new obstructor riding on a path of vengeance would one day unearth red leather book and voice out those cruel trigger words and resummon the cold wraith that still pulsed in his captive spirit. Now, seeing his partner and lover sharing the fated life in a feline body, just gave him another reason to search for a new opening of redemption.

"Anna, we gotta keep to the shadows," Bucky dismissed out a clear instruction as his paws sunk into the heavy mounds of snow obstructing his path. The sky was starless as peaks of moonlight bled through the masses of clouds, shining over his velvet pelt as he stalked down the alleyway, his approaching struts were methodical, following the slender feline a few steps back. Halting to lift his right frontal paw out of snow, Bucky trained his metallic blue spheres, retracting the bleak source of light in the moment his nose crinkled to a distinct smell wavering towards his grounded position.

"Wait..." he breathed heavily, all thoughts to steered to a former memory. A sensation of reachable warmth swelled within his bones, and his heartbeat steadied as he tread closer to her side, realizing that he was close to an attachment that his mind automatically identified as home."I remember this place," His passive gaze locked onto a tarp covering a parked motorcycle underneath the balcony stairway.

Bucky paced forward, twitching his nose as the remnants of gasoline struck his feline senses. "I think Steve lives around here, but I can't be sure."

"So do we go in, James?" Anna purred with a delicate entreating tone and shifted her glance to the wooden nook of disrepair steps. The building was occupied, which meant they would use stealth to infiltrate the targeted apartment that was in their sights.

Bucky nipped at his furred lip, indecisive to make his advance, he had reached another impassive choice to dare himself to follow his gut and engage the detour of snow. He was a hellbent soldier to the core of defiance, but taking a risk with Anna in strange territory that his recognition couldn't detect had driven a pulse of hesitation through him. "James, is everything alright?"

The transformed Winter Soldier turned his head with an automatic response, meeting her expected, unblinking gaze of amber. His emotional attachment for Anya was severed by the daunting realization that only a cold driven assassin existed inside the feline body -he recreated to hold no recognition of humanity and to remain frozen but his devotion for her seemed endless to avail no matter how much of HYDRA's venomous control seized in his veins. All the cruel methods and training in the Red Room had made him incapable: to accept something reachable and pure as love; it was always about continuance, never about living.

"I'm fine," Bucky falsely declared in a shortened breath, a hitch of remorse edged in his undertone, and into those a few extensive seconds for fighting against the presence of uncertainty, his steel- blue eyes traced over the snow layered on the steps leading up to Steve's window. His slackened memory was still a tad hazy to summon the precise details, but he remembered where the living room window was located. As the cold air nipped at his fur, resisting the twinge of pain, Bucky gestured a paw in the direction of the steps."There's obstruction ahead, but we gotta reach the objective...um...I mean safe house."

Feeling her slender muscles stiffen against the cold slashes of wind, Anna tilted her head up, looking at the obscured balcony above them. She recoiled back, detecting an ominous presence shadowing over the building. Her instincts pulsed with a sense of unease, as her balanced on her paws, trying to figure out if the apartment was secure enough for them to enter or if a group of HYDRA operatives had assembled beyond the brick walls.

"What makes you think it's safe for us to enter, James?" she asked, quizzically, sniffing an odorous waver of stale blood. "If finding Steve Rogers is our mission, then can I suggest that we follow basic protocol, just like old times."

"This isn't a protocol for extracting strategy, kitten," Bucky affirmed, exhaustion clipped in his frosty breath. He glanced back at the motorcycle, his own anchor of memory that ensured him that it was safe to advance. His feline instincts grew rattled, as his stance posed with resistance. Cats were creatures of isolation, and roaming the occupied building without the gain of food was ineffective. He needed to subdue his thoughts of remaining distant from human contact and follow his gut. "The apartment is the only safest place we've got left...I know you don't really trust anyone but you gotta trust me, Anna, just like you did on our missions."

Taking a moment to recognize the assurance teeming in his voice, Anna complied with a single nod before sauntering towards the steps.

* * *

Colors of slate mixed with the bleak fluorescent lighting created a path, as Natasha averted permission from the hospital staff to breach through closed doors. When her lithe body sauntered down the vacant corridor; her mind was subdued with violent, torrid images of her past clashed through discipline reserves of her mind with a continuous rate. The possession of darkness greeted her, cold hands were seizing her face and strapping her down onto the operating was the silent reproach of the Red Room; the corrupting essence of fear and recreation.

Each thread of memory retook the awareness of her divulging emotions.

Feeling distant from Steve in his dire moments, granted her with no rest; being an unwilling victim of isolation and torture for most of her young life, Natasha couldn't fathom losing Captain America to HYDRA's sadistic, morbid games of extracting life. It was barely enough to cling onto, but somehow she would reclaim the measures of strength to fight for the super-soldier's freedom. Once Clint's face came into her view, she casually rooted herself at the archer's side. He was reserved in thought, his passive grayish eyes trained on the little girl residing in an elevated bed. It seemed that fear had cut him bone deep, the girl was thrashing in pain and he couldn't even fathom how to respond to her distress cries.

Once Clint's face came into her view, she casually rooted herself at the archer's side. He was reserved in thought, his passive grayish eyes trained on the little girl residing in an elevated bed. It seemed that fear had cut him bone deep, the girl was thrashing in pain and he couldn't even fathom how to respond to her distress cries.

"What are we dealing with here, Clint?" Natasha asked, tensely. Composing herself into a guarded stance, her arms folded over her chest, as the stiff leather of her jacket crinkled. She trained her aquamarine eyes intently at the small child strapped down in a bed. That image haunted her as she felt an amplified connection ignite with the girl's distressing cries. Memories flashed in her depths, shackles latched on bedposts and isolated screams echoing back for release-mercy. She restrained a tear back, tolerating the display of pain fixated in her icy gaze."This is the work of HYDRA or something else?"

After her voice roused him from his impassive standstill, Clint dipped his head low, emitting a heavy breath that revealed utter confusion. He sensed a toxic aura residing in the child, unknown to his reserves of intell. His chest rumbled with discontentment. "I don't know what to tell you, Nat," he breathed with frustration edging in his undertone. His hand unconsciously clenched into a taut fist as he gripped the observation window's ledge. "This is above anything we've ever dealt with in the field...I'm not even sure if it's possible to even consider that we're dealing with supernatural."

Natasha's face paled, her grayish eyes were searching for rational truth beyond the girl's traumatic onslaught. There was no evidence of internal injury, or a poisonous substance filtering in her blood...but she could sense that something was controlling the child's unbearable agony...An undetectable force of darkness and twisted weaves of power. She knew all the angles, but this rising storm disturbed her.

"Maria issued that Steve is experiencing the same effects. More potent than the kid...Whatever we're dealing with, it could be Loki wanting another endgame...Or someone from Rogers' past..." Natasha paused, all effected thoughts calculated an inevitable outcome, as she easily discerned Steve's fate. It was another call to a mission in the crosshairs, one that seemed personal for her to accept. "Looks like I got another late night ahead me," she smirked faintly, leveling a calm gaze back at her despondent friend.

Clint turned, a mask of shadow was casting over his chiseled face, as he stared back at her for a long moment, trying to foresee what she had already predicted. Her eyes remain unreadable as their gazes met to the same presence of tension. "If HYDRA is trying to bring Cap into submission, they'll attack anyone he cares about." His gruff tone dipped low, and lips curled into a taut grimace, he appeared rattled by the sudden distortion of his reality. Natasha breathed his proximity, seizing his shoulder into an assuring clutch that he only recognized as equal trust. "Nat, usually the bad guys go after those who belong at home..."

Natasha's eyes widened, registering the impending threat. Her mind raced as mounting panic seized in her chest. She pulled out her Stark phone, and dialed the number of Sharon Carter, her fingers poised as everything followed with instinctive reaction, her demeanor stoic never faltered as she listened to the dial tone, already pacing down the hallway as voice mail echoed back. "Sharon, listen to me...Your aunt is in trouble. My sources revealed that HYDRA is targeting her because of Rogers. Mobilize your agents and make sure no one leaves or enters the building. As of now, Peggy Carter's location has been compromised."

* * *

In contrasts of encroaching shadow, Anna became a silhouette against the faint glow of muted streetlight haloing over the restless city, darkness traced her steps as the cat stalked passed over the discarded obstruction of the vacant to explore the strange dwelling was growing potent for her to evade. Her encoded instincts pulsed through her slender body evoking a sense of detachment in the infinite moments of searching for the owner of the flat. Her mind registered distant noises that filled her pointed ears with daunting volumes of unknown distress.

Resistance to explore the strange dwelling was growing potent for her to evade. Her encoded instincts pulsed through her slender body evoking a sense of detachment in the infinite moments of searching for the owner of the flat. Her mind registered distant noises that filled her pointed ears with daunting volumes of unknown distress.

For years, she was neglected from humanity; she spent years roaming cities as a stray who salvaged remnants from trash. She didn't have a purpose, or identity, just the concept to survive under the radar. Walking through Steve's apartment give her a sense of belonging to a home again, the polished floorboards leaving a cool glide on her paws and the distinct smells of cotton and fresh fruit. Each scent had awakened a memory that she harbored against the systematic functions of possessive control that was still laden in her conscience. The urges to embrace the vestiges of shadow corrupted her thoughts as warmth enveloped around her lithe feline body; and she felt absent to the world, almost caged.

Walking through Steve's apartment gave her a sense of belonging to a home again, the polished floorboards leaving a cool glide on her paws and the distinct smells of cotton and fresh fruit. Each scent had awakened a memory that she harbored against the systematic functions of possessive control that was still laden in her conscience. The urges to embrace the vestiges of shadow corrupted her thoughts as warmth enveloped around her lithe feline body; and she felt absent to the world, almost caged.

Being no stranger to the presence of emptiness, it served as a bleak comfort to her during those years of conditioning herself to live as a ghost. It was tortuous to accept that she had unwillingly adopted this inhuman existence for almost forty years... Her soul had devolved into such a hopeless creature, and the resilience that she carried diminished. The only anchor that she could latch onto was her ability of stealth to protect her grandniece's life from the demons of HYDRA.

The softness of amber projected over the frosted glass, as she involuntarily trained her keen eyes to snare minimal light to see what obstacles lay around her. There was evidence of a HYDRA raid, the potent stench of wet dog fur lingered in the drafty air; pieces of smashed furniture had been discarded, papers and wartime history books had been unceremoniously scattered on the hardwood floor -her nose crinkled against the wavering of heady, masculine scent that she couldn't ignore.

It was empowering and unknown to her senses to process in that short amount of time Anna had roved a collective glance over the heaps debris. She was immune to see the destructive path of evil, but still it recalled a shutter of dread to tap into her heart.

Realization struck her, that the owner of this soulless place had entered a raging and merciless tempest; it was only maddening silence that greeted her evoked memories of a violent struggle for freedom, on the walls a canvas of red displayed an image that bled into the recesses of her mind; the sordid mark of HYDRA. Just a haunting reminder that no one was free; that a reckoning was arising in the ominous storm they would soon face in the open. She had to find Steve Rogers. He was their chance to reclaim humanity-liberty. Everything she fought to secure: to protect was on the verge of being extracted from this world: her grandniece and her love-James.

After isolating the manifests of heartache, Anna decided to perch near the opened window they had entered after racing down the alleys from hungry dogs. She couldn't see her partner at the moment; Bucky stalked through the dense shadows, evading the glints of the streetlight. She couldn't hear him either; the only evidence of him was the distinct feeling of his haunting presence in her veins.

The presence was a dichotomy for Anna. He was a source protection for her, and a steady foundation that she could trust, he was the redemption of her mutated world, but at the same time, he was also the ruthless Winter Soldier who had killed fifty men without batting an eye. And yet, somehow Anna had begun to feel that the icy breath of HYDRA starting to melt off him since their last meeting. And his company was now perhaps the coldness off of her as well. Her instincts told her that closeness was a violation, but those instincts were the fruit of HYDRA, and Anna rejected them.

HYDRA had only given her numbness and pain and death; what James offered her was life. And the life was so warm, endearing and beautiful that none of HYDRA's remaining effects could drown out Anna's desire for it. That life may be a distant hope, for now, they were still trapped in their accursed feline bodies, but it seemed that Bucky really had immeasurable faith that they would triumph in this war of redeeming their mortality. And if he believed, then, Anna could believe, too.

* * *

Inspecting over trails damage that HYDRA operatives left, Bucky halted in his padded steps, in that moment his blue eyes locked onto a discarded heap of Steve's clothing. The depths of his mind became shadowed with dread; threads of emotions were being pulled, and twisting into knots, he need to find an outlet of hope, to escape the flood chambers of memories and deepest regrets, but he couldn't avert his gaze away from one piece of clothing that stood out among the rest: the stealth uniform of Captain America.

His linking paw gently stroked over the Kevlar mesh, Bucky hated feeling detached from Steve's towering presence, it made him feel incomplete as if he was tipping on the knife edge of submitting to HYDRA's programming. Regardless, he expected to find Steve waiting for him in the flat, but instead, he found only the aftermath of an invading assault. A blaze of guilt seared through him deep, Steve's transformation was his fault, and he would own that every moment they were apart.

"The punks' gotta be on the run...He's just gotta be somewhere hidden?" he breathed silently, mustering up an effort to brush his paw over the chrome star emblem-the only beckon of freedom that was left his mind's distortions, images became clear, Steve's face absorbed all the darkness. Commanding and chiseled, and almost immortal, the only anchor he used to escape from his constant descent into the realm of nightmares.

HYDRA ingrained false truths; Steve had been a level six agent: the mission. He wasn't a deviant...He was a solid wall of trust, he had the moral values that made him be worth more than any payment of blood. Steve had always been there for him, whether as the headstrong little guy or the indomitable super soldier, he never gave up on Bucky, not even when he became nonexistent to the world...

The pain Bucky felt wouldn't recede, as he failed to regain the insurgence of hope, to feel human as the slate-blue uniform in front of him became an obstructive force. A few seconds in lapses of memory offered him a sense of residual peace.

It was all that remain intact of his best friend's existence, and he was hanging onto the promise that was made by two orphaned Brooklyn boys, an everlasting vow that would be unbroken. And, now, he felt the detachment evoke a presence of fear, as his thoughts went rampant, knowing that Steve was out there, surviving on a different battlefield.

He wanted Steve back, not as a dog. The captain deserved a good life. He was the one who HYDRA fated to punish, not Steve, he would take his sentence as stray feline willingly, but he couldn't allow his best friend to fall with him...

The curse had ensnared him for a reason.

Closing his eyes to prevent a piercing sting of tears from sliding down his tiny muzzle, Bucky dropped into the heap of Steve's uniform, his bones tensed as he writhed and released a low hiss to the full extent of his anguish that his heart could barely register. His thinned ebony coat mixed into the shades of darkness, as the material securing his tiny body, dampened with his flow of tears. The feline body felt like an eternal grave, except his soul was alive and stirring to gain freedom.

James Barnes...The Winter Soldier had died, the transformation he'd endured on Hallow's Eve forced death to chain him down. Everything was absent to respond towards until he caught the familiar scent of home-Brooklyn- wavering in the dense air. Steve. Then, to his lament, floods of memories ripped apart, forcing a pulsing ache formed into his skull, white fire blinded his vision as everything came rushing back. It was time to lay it all on the line to live through the pain again, he remembered how Zola cheated him out of life, every merge of the serum, as he endured torturous operations and dislocated bones, isolation and awakenings of mortal fear.

_...Welcome to the afterlife, Herr Barnes..._

His world burned, smoldering into ashes as the Winter Soldier was birthed out the icy cradle, and he recalled tasting rust choking down his throat as he saw blades slicing into the marrow of his bones. The metal socket had attached to exposing nerves and he felt with pints of liquid alloy pumping in his blood. Carbon freezing of organic veins and electronic pulse replaced his left arm.

Zola had injected with a soporific formula, a merging, and paralytic agent to numb the an agony generating from his severed limb, his blood went cold and the lifeless, a hollow sound of the metal created abnormal vibrations as he was hooked up to a machine, secured against restraints and forced to feel shock waves of measured volts erase all thoughts-all his memories into pulses of empty static as he screamed until his voice failed him.

After constant methods dehumanization and mind swiping, he still carried the same stubborn defiance of Bucky Barnes. He didn't surrender without a fight, he refused to become a machine, but as the operations increased, little by little pieces of his humanity (life) shredded away. They poisoned his mind, fusing their commands; as he underwent brutal training-evolving into a masterful killer. He changed into a monster wearing human skin, an unforgivable nightmarish wraith, dead inside and responsive to only the voices of his cruel handlers.

For years, he lived under their gun, executing innocents all under the name of HYDRA, and he evolved into the new world: never having a warranted reason to disregard his commanders of authority, not until a young and beautiful KBG operative entered his frozen world and somehow brought a glimpse of light back into it.

"Anya," Bucky spoke in a vague whisper against the silent darkness, his icy blue orbs fixed on her slender, tensed body obstructing the haze of light reflecting against the windows. At the first, the visages of pain felt invalid to his conditioned and dehumanized senses, but he felt the toils of sickening guilt ripple through him as his straining heart protested with discontent. He attempted to clench his muzzle into sour grimace while looking up at his alluring partner."How could I have allowed this to happen to you, beautiful?"

* * *

_{Flashback}_

_He found her in the spacious gymnasium during the early hours of daybreak, silence greeted him in the passing moments he took in the sight of her:__ a black flimsy shirt and leggings exposed every curve and graceful line of her maturing svelte body. Her long chocolate strands twined into a braid, easy to pull out. Anya was only a silhouette against slants of the grayish haze of morning light that streaked from the iron-barred windows; darkness traced her padded steps as she spun on the arch of one foot and delivered a straight roundhouse kick directly into a dangling cushioned bag._

_He was summoned to observe her training session by her handlers, to execute weakness in the depth of his steely perception. The young girl was a stark portrait of radiance. She maneuvered lines of encumbered grace in her floating motion; her beauty was an illusion mixed with the shadow: her natural element._

_Her dancing skills were at the pinnacle of human perfection; hardened and refined over a decade of practice and cruel training in her youth. Whatever memories she still retained of that perilous period of time, seemed to become stowed away from her new existence, as she was forced to utilize her craft for the Red Room._

Her_ evades carried stealth, not falter in her sharp movements, just precision. She wielded her svelte body as a knife; sleek to cut into the air and poised to deliver the kill within contact: there was no weakness exhibited._

_Composing himself with stoic demeanor, the Winter Soldier entered through the metal doors at a brisk and methodical pace, bare feet padded the cold floor as he edged near a training mat, as she became aware of his intimating presence, and automatically gave him a bow of voiceless respect. __"Anya," he addressed the young dancer, firmly, his a strained Brooklyn undertone, disguised in Russian._

_Taking a moment to collect himself into a fighting stance, the approach of his shadow gave her a warning not to advance close. He invariably stole a glance at the black pair of leggings hugged her curves as she balanced full weight on one leg, mastering stillness until the other sliced through the air in a sharp twirl. She was efficient at _acro_ -dancing: a hybrid of a ballerina and acrobat, selected by Lukin where her family was dispatched with a brutal attack; only her older sister Ella carried that same blood. _

_Finally, after steeling his resolve, the Winter Soldier parted his full lips, drawing out a firm breath. His chrome digits swept over his lengthy tresses _hooded_ his vivid blue eyes.__The murderous desire was ablaze__ in his gaze as he breached her space with calculating paces, resisting the intoxicating scent wavering off her."Is this part of your training...This dancing that you execute?"_

_Recognizing the dangerous pitch in his voice, Anya recoiled back in midstep, giving him no invitation. He reeked of masculine dominance; the shades of gray in his blue eyes possessed a daunting glint as she mirrored his deaden stare. "I'm not permitted to answer without Lukin's authority, sir," she countered back sending a glare back at the doors, and his focused intent watched the voluminous lush__ of her lips pursed into a dismissive smirk. "I doubt that you're permitted to be alone with schoolgirl?"_

_He arched an eyebrow, almost seeming amused by the display of her brazen attitude. It was clear, that the young recruit before him wasn't afraid to speak her mind. He admired that imperfection. She wasn't one of Lukin's soulless drones, but genuine to the right of her own survival. "I've been authorized __to monitor your training session for the day."_

_Anya felt a tiny prick of fear pierce icily claw into her heart. She knew no one in HYDRA had any regard for her humanity; to them, she was a mere tool to use and then cast away. The situation did not permit her much defense of herself against the forceful presence of her companion should he prove irritable or violent, but she determined to remain strong._

_Though she had little memory of the past, she knew she had endured abuses and come out stronger than before. Perhaps that what his demeanor was trying to evoke in the first place: a show of resilience under tension. Anya kept her expression subtly defiant and broke eye contact, concentrating again on her surroundings. "What training would you suggest I practice?" she inquired as professionally as she could. "On missions, what skills are most important to possess?"_

_Giving her no response, the Winter Soldier encroached closer to her proximity, distance wavered in his steps. Looking at the rawness of her knuckles, he removed a roll of tape from the pocket of his faded black jeans. It seemed necessary for her to use during their sparring match._

_"Use this to get your hands strapped up and then I will educate you with a lesson." He intoned with a rasp evident in his deep timbre. It took a moment for him to process the compromising emotions he felt with her; nothing seemed irrelevant to evade. Her craft was cunning and vengeful, she held a regard to his presence, giving him the impression that she felt undaunted by his intimating stance. __His piercing grayish-blue eyes held firm intent against her indecisive expression. Anya wasn't convinced. Emitting out a heavy breath, he quickly tore a strip off the roll and extended his chrome hand openly to her. "It will protect your hands."_

_Anya hesitantly reached out and took the tape from the Soldier, all too aware of his cold, lifeless hand. She was supposed to have all her curiosity trained out of her to be a stoic machine, but something in her still always rebelled against the programming, daring to wonder about things. She found herself trying to image what had caused the operative before to her to lose a limb. Now HYDRA had made a part of him a machine, just like his mind._

_She shook the dangerous pondering from her mind and began wrapping the roll of tape around her hand, mentally preparing herself for whatever drill would require her hands to be protected. When the tape was secure over her palms, she stood almost at attention, waiting for a command or other instructions, but still refusing to look her supervisor in the eye._

_"They gave me information that you've been lacking the fight," he divulged, with a strict timbre replacing his husky tone. Detecting her unease, his chrome hand effortlessly stroked over her taped knuckles with graces of benevolence, giving her a sense of trust. Her resistance was amusing, the way she leveled her mirroring dark eyes at him; with no flicker of hesitation._

_A haunted smile coaxed over his pouty lips, as he stared deeply, trying to search for her weakness-the humanity that still existed. In that moment when he felt the equal connection of their dueling souls became all-encompassing, the sense of companionship was inevitable for the programming rake away. He pulled his weight closer to her, long tresses of his dishelved mane draped over the bristled clench of his jaw, as he lifted her smaller hands to his chest, gently molding them into fists._

_ "I've watched the other girls of your class ranks take you down faultlessly each time you spar in the outside ring." He receded back and the raise of his eyebrow displayed a curious expression parallel to her guarded stare. "Do you not like fighting?"_

_A bit of fire ignited in Anya's eyes at the rebuke, and she felt her fists tighten very slightly. In truth, she was not sure why she had not become as lethal as her peers; there was no physical reason. It was almost like a mental block: a small, muted voice that seemed to imply she shouldn't want to use force to take down the other girls. But HYDRA had silenced the voice as best they could, and who was she to disobey them? She needed to shake these childish thoughts from her mind and become the perfect weapon HYDRA meant her to be._

_"I am slow to learn," she answered, not directly addressing the question that had been asked of her. "But when I learn something, I learn it well, and I do not forget it."_

_The Winter Soldier seemed fairly content by her answer."Show me what you've learned," he requested gruffly, side- stepping away to grant her space on the mats. His blue eyes narrowed automatically to her bare feet, noticing a discoloring of bruises. To his steely resolve, those marks of pain were clear evidence that she had been pushed to every limit by Lukin; dancing was survival in the selective ranks of the Red Room. _

_Grace and stances of perfected balance would mold each little girl as an instrument of death. There had been some dancers that displayed their defiance but ended up with a bullet behind the eyes. He didn't want Anya to share that fate. "I want you to flip in the air for me," he issued out, deep baritone wavering with a firm command. "We need to see what you're lacking before training begins."_

_Anya felt a bit of relief when the command was something she had indeed mastered. She knew a variety of maneuvers; she had easily learned all that her trainers could instruct her in, and though they never showed her any positive affirmation, she had long ceased to hear any criticism against her solo stunts._

_Letting her muscles coil in a way that was now second nature, she took a few steps back and then gathered some momentum before effortlessly launching into the air. She flawlessly cut through the air, her limbs all turning in perfect harmony. She did not stop when she landed, but instead pushed up into another jump, using the continued force of her previous leap. Her feet quietly struck the padding on the ground as she finished the attempt, and she stood to wait for analysis, not in the least off balance._

_Thoughts grew abhorrent in his mind, regardless how the Winter Soldier viewed on the young girl who possessed the same encompassing darkness as he did. She controlled the shadows, wielding resilience that seemed unshakable. His silent and methodical footing __gained unfaltering intimation in those few seconds he felt anchored to close the distance with her._

_ It was an instinctual reaction that became gravitating to relent ; flares of heat seared through the bone at the same time they exchanged glances, reading the dangerous glint that reflected back. He needed to show Anya how to become ruthless. She was hesitant to unleash all reservations that were stowed deep._

_With a slow counter of precise footing, he encircled her; the knife gripped in the clasp of his metal hand. Pulses of feverish energy became subtle vibrations; Anya remained frozen __in a defensive stance, displaying no emotional breach across her stoic demeanor as he shadowed over her and waited for breath ghost over her lips. His glacial steel-blue eyes tracked every line of sweat rolling over her exposed skin. It became intoxicating, none of the other girls had this form of controlled power over him._

_"You're good," the Winter Soldier condoned, she easily detected a fierce edge rising in his baritone. "Tell me have you ever played with a blade during a fight: did they train you to use one while dancing?" His countenance darkened like a shadow; and changed into possession of cold _menace_. "Do you know how to hold a blade?" His lips curved into a wolfish smirk and his eyes hollowed with blue embers under messy dark strands. He wanted to completely expose her weakness. "Unless you prefer to use a more effective weapon since you have less experience?" He challenged, flipping the knife into a reserve grip, catching it effortless like a feather interweaving against his interlocked chrome fingers._

_Anya felt a twinge of disappointment in herself as she was forced to admit her inexperience. Because she had not been able to yet take down her peers using only hand-to-hand combat, she had received no training beyond that, with knives or otherwise but she would not allow that fact to compromise her current position; the Soldier no doubt was looking to see where she was strong, and she wanted him to succeed in making her better._

_"They haven't given me much weapon instruction," Anya answered with equal intent and met the Winter Soldier's exacting gaze with a firm expression of strength. "Teach me with whatever weapon you think would be most effective for me to excel with... If it's a blade, I will learn how to use a blade. If something else, I will learn that. I want to be as efficient as possible."_

_"You want to live as their machine?" Winter Soldier asked, coldly, shifting his weight in a tense level of balance as he clutched the knife against his side; his menacing blue eyes invasively determined that her rebellious spirit as a minor error for their DNA coded programming; she was recognized as a divergent to the numerous survival methods of the Red Room; her body had undergone painful alterations of redesign in order to strip away her innocence._

_Viewing her as an equal sparring partner; he noticed that Anya displayed no fault or weakness in her grounded stance, but her dark eyes cast a mere glimmer of reluctance compared to the other girls of the classroom ranks, and she was so careful not to reveal the thread of humanity in front of Lukin and her handlers. She wore the disguise of a loyal servant perpetually well, given that she didn't feel priceless to the value of her untouchable beauty. There had to be a reason why the orphan before him was recruited; did she carry a special talent: and he could sense it was something highly lethal if used to deliver fear into her targets._

_Anya felt the question sting as her mind processed it. She should be able to answer in the affirmative without a moment's thought. She had indeed been programmed to become a machine; one that HYDRA could command to kill without question until something deep in the fathoms of their control her found such a notion repulsive; she simply did not want to be an inorganic weapon._

_"I want to survive," she answered him after only a moment's hesitation. "And HYDRA is the way of the future, the selected means of evolving the human race. I would be a fool to reject it, wouldn't I?"_

_The young operative hadn't really meant the question to be anything but rhetorical, yet as it left her lips, she found herself wondering what her observer would say to it. She pondered the possibility of him feeling the same desire to break the mold of HYDRA that she had though she would never admit that thought's existence in such concise terms. She carefully watched the Winter Soldier's impassive expression shift into a flicker of crestfallen reluctance to ingrained orders buzzing in his conscience; trying to let her vision go beyond his face and into his distant mind._

_His gaze seemed to hollow__ into a hardened downcast of additional emotion, the coveted question seemed to linger between them. From the moment he stepped onto the sparring mats; allowing his ghostly blue eyes to stare at her, the Winter Soldier felt a rare connection being unearthed-he was dueling with the program interface of his mind, it was no longer a training session. A faint smirk curled at his full lips, hinting that he was being open with her._

_Anya watched the carved muscle of his stubble jaw tightened, revealing a definition of chiseled sculpt as he forced out an aghast breath. "For the longest time, I've only known what orders to follow...execute." He bit down on his lip harshly, trying to make sense of the extent to his reason. He wasn't content with his thoughts...Each one seemed to hold something back._

_"It's all I've ever known. You're not a fool, never call yourself that name again. People around here survive under orders, but I can see that you're different than the girls in your ranks." A pause ended his words, as his flesh hand made a cautious attempted to claim her neck, so tentative and calming that it took less of an effort to allude the pulse of resistance pulling him back._

_He wanted Anya to trust in his metallic touch, and with the effort he reached to gather chocolate whorls of her hair, letting hidden curls grace over his knuckles. __They were facing each other, expectantly, but the distance was present in their mirrored gazes._

_He had to form resistance again between her._

_ His metal hand dropped to his side to break that apparent contact, he took up the reserved stance of a soldier and backed away, soothingly, as pulses of blood grew stronger._

_After he settled down a galloping heart, the Winter Soldier looked up, caught in her dark gaze; and found his lifeline right at that second of equal choice. "You've got a good fight in you, that won't back down. I know that you must follow Lukin's rules, I've seen enough already to prove to them that you're ready to accompany me..." His eyes shiftily _roving_ to the pale light streaming from the barred windows-outside meant freedom. Anya didn't know that after their encounter in the hallway, he was always observing her in the shadows. "Out there?"_

_"You mean on missions?" Anya inquired, still a bit unsure of what the Winter Soldier was suggesting. She felt her guard continue to lower as the Soldier's thick, icy facade melted back a bit. It seemed he looked at the world beyond with the same longing she did: a longing to embrace freedom._

_The light that the Winter Soldier had glanced at now drew the eyes of Anya. It was warm and inviting, tempting the one who saw it by seeking the light without thought of anything else. It remained a rare sight of anything outside of HYDRA's control. Anya wanted to take it all into her soul and never lose it, but the very purpose of HYDRA seemed to be to beat out any embers of flame or hints of light._

_Freedom beckoned, but was there really any freedom? For Anya, even missions outside the dark walls and musty basements of HYDRA would be a reprieve, so maybe right now, freedom itself didn't matter. What she knew for certain was that she hated being caged like an animal. Well, maybe she knew more than that; apparently she wasn't the only one who hated cages, judging by the impassive and fierce semblance of the pristine Soviet operative, his glacial eyes displayed reason as he connected his _cybernetic _ hand to her face, tracing a cold stroke of his knuckles across her cheek. _

_Feeling her tensed under his touched, he reverently tucked strays of dark tassels behind her ear, sensing that she had craved for genuine acceptance. Reflections of clear vulnerability shone in her youthful eyes, and he was certain she wanted to become strong._

_"You won't find what you want out there," he dismissed with a possessive edge teeming in his voice, as she matched his penetrating stare. "I can give you protection as your partner if you don't mind the cold?"_

_She wouldn't allow her dejected emotions to purchase his words, freedom was a distant thought, much like the irrational promises of hope: General Lukin and Octavia were the ones who dismissed that kindling of human compromise, but somehow she knew that one day those survived this nightmare will rise above the decaying walls of isolation."Isn't a lot colder in here, then it is out there..."_

_In the presence of returning silence between them, the Winter Soldier knew that mercy wouldn't be granted to her, not when HYDRA was encoded in her veins with a brand of loyalty. He was instructed to mold her into a weapon, but emotional compromise derailed him from carrying out that order of weaving her into their ranks, erasing all essence of humanity and forcing her to accept a fate of being a monster. _

_Spending time with Anya didn't seem predictable to decide, not when awareness of her untamed spirit gave him a sense of hope, that even an attachment of love could return back to him."Yes..." He cut off his words in a shaky breath, glancing back at the closed doors behind them. An outcry of screams echoed back, distant but real enough to feel the pure agony of distress gravitate in the darkness."It's always cold in here."_

* * *

Fighting against the bite of skeptical resistance, Bucky cautiously ventured closer within her proximity; his steps carried stealth and systematic precision, and then his agile body gracefully leaped onto the couch; remotely aware of the detection of a potential threat that pulsated in his veins. Despite being on the edge of violation, he became genuinely concern was her life, knowing that she refused to submit to hunger. "You need to eat something from Steve's stash. It will conserve your energy," he formally addressed with a strict baritone razing in his strained throat. "Refuse my order and you will become unsuitable for our next mission."

Anna felt the thawing process of her heart falter at her partners' strict orders, but her ears bent back in submission and she jumped from her perch. He was right, after all. She was very hungry, and if they were going to make any progress, they needed to be in top condition. She ventured across the kitchen with all the grace of the agile cat she was before stopping and turning back to face Bucky."What about you?" she asked hesitantly.

Responding to the measure of concern laced in her voice, Bucky somberly bowed his head ashamed to reveal his hunger."I don't eat much," he admitted, whispering out a ghostly rasp, his muzzle scrunched, and pale blue orbs held glints of valid remorse. "I'm not like you, Anna..." She detected an ache of derision in his voice. "For years, under the control Zola's sickening mind I became less human..." He seethed through gritted teeth, disgusted by the absence of nourishment he was enslaved never to taste solid food, only liquid injections sated hunger. "The substance that I was allowed to eat was a reward if the mission was successful...Zola conditioned my body to become immune to have an empty stomach..." The volumes of his graveled voice pained with the silence they both fell back into."It was efficient for every shadow mission."

Anna felt her heart sigh within her. Despite all she'd been through, Bucky had endured even worse for an even longer amount of time under the tentacles of HYDRA. That his soul to remained intact was nothing but short of a miracle. The evidence of pain that reflection in his glacial eyes was enough to make anger flame up in Anna's reserved mind, though she had quickly shoved it down.

Now, as not the time for justice: not yet. For now, they needed to focus on the mission, like Bucky had said.

"Well, we've dropped off the kittens successfully," Anna said, a faint smile creeping up the corners of her small mouth. "I think that counts. We don't know when we'll find food again, James, and you're the one who always says to use your surroundings to your advantage."

_"_Ugh," the unsanctified assassin droned, breathing out a ragged, frustrated noise in the back of his parched throat. It took an indecisive moment for Bucky to consider, that he was being remotely committed to the succession of the mission. Converging detectable information of Steve's location with his enhanced senses, as he preserved enough measure of humility without being tolerable to his bodily needs. Remorse was ebbing away at his soul...

He didn't want Anna to notice the adamant struggle of revealing inability to contain his primitive impulses. "Stop looking out for me," he responded tensely, emitting a low snarl. His emptied stomach roiled with discontent. Wincing against the dull throbbing in his shortened limbs, Bucky leveled his intense blue orbs even at her concerning gaze. "My levels of metabolism are different than yours."

Anna was not satisfied with his answer not in the slightest but she could tell that something was bothering her partner, so she decided not to press the issue in that way.

Instead, she went about her foraging through the apartment's supply of food, her stomach truly eager for something to eat. When at last she found something sufficient for her needs in the form of strips of beef jerky, she dragged the foiled wrapping of food across the kitchen into plain sight, hoping to draw James to have the meal with her_-_just they did back in Russia.

"What is it?" she finally asked, her blunt question accompanied by a soothing tone. She really did care, and the realization made her feel...warm.

Bucky cast an uncertain glance at the strips of freeze dried food. He didn't protest against her offer as she slid the jerky across the wooden floor with an effortless sway of her paw. "It's something I remember eating back when I was a kid at the corner drug store near my Ma's place..." He guessed with a hitch of breath; and dug his pointed fangs into his furred lip, and he stared blankly at the pieces of dried beef in front of him. "I don't know if this stuff is good for us and fresh," he emitted out graveled warning and scoffed with a slight rotate of his head, shrugging off his uncertainty. "Knowing Steve's good eating habits, it's probably not even close the expiry date."

"Well, it's meat and it was in a wrapper," Anna replied, tersely. "It can't be that bad, can it?" Sniffing the stick of dark-colored, dried meat, Anna's mouth watered and she took a small bite with fueling curiosity. The flavor of wholesome food filled her mouth like an explosion, and she had to resist letting out a sigh of contentment. "I think it's alright. It tastes fine to me," she said to encourage her dismissive partner.

His thoughts barely processed hunger. It wasn't something he could accept, or deserved without an order. Clenching his eyes shut, Bucky swiped the wrapper with a quick motion of his chrome paw, black pelt bristled as he fixed a hollow glance, locking his interest on an opened cupboard. He remembered that Steve had a stash of tuna piled on a shelf. "Don't finish your meal...I've got a better one on the way."

Anna complied, continuing to gnaw at the meat before her. Despite the fact that she was very hungry and that the meal was doing her much good physically, the food did little at all to stop the pain that plagued her body. She suspected the aching was more due to the curse itself and her own inner turmoil than any natural ailment, but she wasn't sure how to stem its slow-burning fire. She let out a short sigh and closed her eyes, trying to fight off the phantoms from her past that ever danced before mind when pain flared through her veins.

She could barely recall to memory any time before HYDRA's darkness had dominated her life. But since her curse and exile, images had begun appearing in her brain. They were twisted and distant, most incomprehensible without some sort of context, but she knew some things. Yet even these precious facts about who she was: beneath all the conditioning and terrors of her training that brought her sadness. But still the ghosts of her past haunted her, reminding her of how she had failed them.

Ella was the one exception. As Anna took her last bite of meat, her stomach filled for the moment, Ella's face reappeared in the recesses of her mind. Anna could not remember much of what her sister had been like, but she knew the name, saw the gentle face, and she felt the love that had been. The memory of Ella was the only star in the dark night of Anna's life, the dim glimmer of hope that was now beyond what any shadow of HYDRA could touch.

Dead. Oh, happy to be dead and safe from any curse or torture that evil could devise.

But Anna knew that Ella had not died alone. She had been full of years and life, widowed, but having a child. It was for that life that Anna had brought the curse on herself-her one best act in the crooked path of existence she had been placed on. Years had past by as Anna waded through the darkness of her curse, but her kin had been untainted. Ella's granddaughter still lived, but in the disconnected, unnatural time of her curse, Anna had not found her sister's descendant. She had lost the hope to even try. But now that she was with James...

"Is it wrong to feel the bond of kinship?" she asked her partner hesitantly. Her mind had been detached and remade too many times, and she did not understand or know how to work with any love, for family or companions. James might not think her question worthy of a reply, but she trusted him, and her desperation for answers was enough to make her speak.

Bucky froze in his steps, and turned his head, glancing back her. It was hard to process, that beautiful, slender creature wasn't illusion recreated from the despair he carried; she was real to grasp in the darkness. In that silent moment of staring at mute streetlight caressing over her ebony fur, he knew that Anna was still holding onto good faith, that maybe they would find an outlet to break the spell, to relive what had been stolen from them. He approached her tentatively, lifting his chrome paw to brush over her muzzle, as he whispered with an edge of sincerely in his voice. "It's not wrong to share a bond with someone close...HYDRA made you think that life is cheap, but it's not all that bad when you got someone watching your back, Anna."

Anna's thoughts returned to her little grandniece, who probably had no one to watch her back. Even though she had never met the orphan, Anna still felt a strange longing to become more than a shadow to her, perhaps connected with the love she had borne for her sister long ago. But darkness still weighed heavily on Anna's shoulders, and she couldn't make sense of her thoughts or emotions.

"But what about a bond of blood?" she inquired. "What about relatives? Should we have any sort of special care or connection with them, or is that merely a sign of weakness?"

A silent approach of memory overtook Bucky's thoughts, mostly one image that pierced through the gray edges of his addled mind. He remembered that sorrowful day when Sarah Rogers had passed on, and Steve had been holding onto that coat on the stairwell as the doctor: a dear friend of Sarah gave him that rose to place it over her pillowcase.

* * *

_A single rose left on a wooden step, lush red petals collecting drops of fallen rain as frail, a shaky hand of a young man with short flaxen- blond hair reached down to lift the drenched flower and gently eased it down while gripping an empty black coat. _

_Tears streaked down his hollowed gaunt cheeks as he wept out his mother's name, shivering to the coldness of her absence. He mustered up enough strength in his voice, feeling his lung clog as his azure eyes looked up skyward. "Where I s'pose to go Ma?" he whispered, hoping that she would place an answer in his weak heart. "You told me to always be strong to never back down...How can I carry on, when I've got nothin'..." _

_"Hey, little guy," Bucky's somber baritone echoed in the rain, as he stepped down next to Steve's hunched form. "Whatcha doin' out here in the rain, you're gonna get the newspaper in your shoes all wet again..."_

_"I just want to be alone, Buck." Steve adamantly professed, sniffling as a tinge of red brimmed over his blue irises. He wasn't sure how long he was crying, but it gave him relief from the ache building in his narrow boned chest. "Ma always wanted me to stay strong and that's what I'm gonna do for her...I'm not giving up this fight, even if I've got no roof over my head... Somehow, I'll make it."_

_"Not you dare say that Stevie, my folks love you like a son, and you're my little, stubborn- headed brother...If you think I'm gonna let you become a stray, you got another thing coming, punk. Sarah, wouldn't want her little guy livin' without a home, she did so much to give you a chance to become a great artist...So c'mon, my Ma's got a full pot of Irish stew on...and we'll figure out things, but for now, you're coming home with me."_

_A swell of hope expanded in his chest, Steve gave him a lopsided smirk, his expression modest and accepting. He could always count on Bucky to lift him back up."Why do you want to do this for me, Buck?" his voice sounded degraded, almost matching the painful heartache the generated in his chest. A cough rattled through his lungs, as he wheezed out the honest truth."I've got nothin' left to give you...So why do you wanna stick with me, Buck?"_

_"Why not?" __Bucky teased with a benevolent glint in his steel-blue eyes and linked his left arm over Steve's bony shoulders, and listened as the little guy wince underneath the weighted pressure that sunk into his frail muscles. Bucky glanced at tears dripping over Steve's thinned and sallow features, leaving only a semblance of grief that didn't seem to fade out. __"You're my best friend, Stevie Rogers.."_

_Drawing up a heavy sigh, Bucky quirked his lips into a grin, encompassing Steve's drenched body against his jacket as he became a shield against the rain, feeling his friend's shuttering muscles ease to the warmth emanating from his own.__"Besides, I'm sorta keepin' a promise to very special Brooklyn Ma."_

_After releasing a grated cough, Steve eased his head off the jacket, looking up at Bucky with shining blue eyes, tears were held back. So many emotions fled through his mind. He felt strong with Bucky at his side, and that gave him the assurance that he was not alone. The brotherly trust in Bucky's glacial eyes was intense and searing to diminish the absence of home that he felt-in a short breath Steve gave his best friend an honest confession that couldn't be obstructed. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Buck."_

* * *

Narrowing his head, fighting against the devoid in him, Bucky mechanically traced the floor with his paw; his face exhibited a dual of emotions that surged through him as he braved to glanced up at her; his glacial blue spheres adjusted with darkness as those memories of innocent and unbearable times faded.

With a slow part of his jaws, breath ghosted out, followed by a disheartened sigh."Havin' a family is important, it's not a weakness," Even though he felt utterly impotent within a feline vessel. Bucky gripped onto his tolerance, onto a memory and the love he valued strongly for Anya, that didn't seem so distant to him anymore."Our strength that gives us somethin' to fight for when home isn't in our reach. Whatever bond you had with your sister, keep it close and don't let slip away..."

Anna felt her throat constrict, and she drew in a prolonged breath. "How can I keep it close if the little one doesn't even know I exist?" she almost beseeched, looking to Bucky with a troubled expression and sadness in her eyes. "I don't even know where she is," she appended, a throb of anguish pervading her heart like frigid water.

Bucky furrowed his brow disquieted. "Who?" he asked lowly his graveled voice gaining a protective edge. His stance remained adamant, and he stared into her golden orbs that held the shadows of regret. While in the ranks of the Red Room, he never delved into her past before; mostly respected her distance when it came to revealing secrets dwelling in her childhood that seemed to leave haunting memories in the wake of submission. He intently searched for the painful truths that she tried so hard to conceal.

"I know you're tryin' to keep all in, but the thing is you don't have to.." With much of a tentative effort as his feline limbs could manage, his paw elevated to reach her silky fur with a phantom caress to ease her abraded distress, he found a vague sense of calmness return as her alluring eyes hollowed a gaze back at him. "Anya, if you're comfortable enough, you can tell me who you're looking for..." Anna involuntarily turned her head away, indignant to give him a response. "Is this person your mission?"He soothed.

Telling memories to her partner, however much she trusted him, still hurt like the vault of her heart was being pried open. But she took a deep breath and reminded herself that HYDRA was behind her, and more than anything, she wanted the trust and constant proximity of James at her side. "She could be," Anna breathed out an answer with confusion writhing in her mind. "I...don't know much about her. I only remember her grandmother."

Anna felt her throat constrict as her eyes grew moist, and she looked away from James' gaze and sighed angrily, upset that she was so terrified to look into her past. She tried to remind herself over and over that Bucky was the cure, not the disease. But her mind was unyielding, and she felt as cold as if she was in a tempest.

"HYDRA forced us to think that the people closest to us were irreverent; you kept her memories safeguarded and didn't allow their control to erase those pieces of humanity." He pulled himself in closer to her, using his body to shield her against the cold. He nuzzled his face against her fur. "We're invisible now, Anya, like ghosts to the shadows, we need to stick close and fight for those who still have a chance to live."

The warmness of James' close presence pacified Anna's fearful heart, and she let out a disheartened sigh, thinking of the little girl who, as James had said, still had a chance to live. Anna's past was saturated in darkness, and her future also did not appear to be bright. But that didn't mean that she could ensure another's happiness.

"She's my sister's granddaughter," Anna finally stated in a hushed whisper, almost as if her revealing the information were an error. She took another deep breath and reassured herself that this was the child's best chance of life. "My sister's family was captured by HYDRA during I was in the Red Room," she continued, masking her grief. "They killed her husband before anything could be done. But I..." she swallowed hard and then cleared her throat, "...they were appeased, so they let her go. She was carrying a child at the time. I don't know much of what happened to her or exactly when she died, but I know that she has a living granddaughter. The girl is not much better off than we are."

His soul was stirring, he processed the evidence of pain that wavered in her leveled voice. He set his pale cerulean eyes deep in focus, trying to grasp the agonizing revelation about his love's torturous past. His thoughts grew rampant and lucid memories disarranged in the base of his addled mind. He adhered to her body, embracing the moderate pulse of her strong heartbeat.

"I remember seeing an old woman wearing a silver mask, I think she was your instructor where you used to dance..." He whispered with a cold edge to his deep voice, and the unfurling confusion left him reeling for truth. He could feel the unavailing pain tearing into his heart, it was adamant as he tried to dismiss all the horrors that awoke inside.

An errant tear escaped from his eye as he fought to overtake all despair, gripping to a distant memory as his chrome paw clenched against the floor."That devil woman caused a lot of young girls pain. She mostly went after you, because you were such a beautiful dame...You were the only one who didn't fear the monster they turned me into; you gave me a reason to live and fight when it counted...I felt the pain run deep when she took you away, separating us. His tears dampened over her fur and rolled down as he buried his face into the curve of her back and lamented, releasing everything his handlers had tried to steal from him."When I woke up Lukin told me that you had been deactivated."

"They weren't really lying," Anna told him, her voice catching as a sob threatened to escape her lips. "I was hardly alive." She closed her eyes tightly and just converge all her thoughts on Bucky, him being beside her. She wasn't isolated, and HYDRA wasn't clawing out every thought of her mind. She had him. She was protected_._

"That was when they stripped everything from me," She finally made herself say out loud, her last bit of resolution now in the open. "That's why I never saw you again." She felt her eyes swell with a hot burn of remorse."I'm sorry," she apologized, turning away slightly so that the brisk wind began to slash at her fur again. She was immune to live in solitude, it prevented more heartache. Now, he was reachable, the unyielding sorrow that she carried was shredding and replaced with something pure again. "I shouldn't have left you." She resumed her unbidden confession."You were all I left, everything that I wanted outside those walls..." The urge to run was growing to potent to ignore. She felt her chest tightening."They caged me up."

Bucky just glared back at her, empty and unwavering. It was difficult for him to process her valid confession, to even allow those words to mend the severing wounds of his tortured past without the angelic existence of her. The vengeful reproach of unbidden hatred pinned against his tensing heart. Bones underneath his velvety fur stiffened as he recognized the measure of pain that echoed into the weaves of his ensnared soul.

"You were the first victim to become something different...Weak to their twisted methods of punishment." His claws retracted out. Feeling the brim of rage pulsing in his feline body, Bucky shut his eyes, trying to rationalize with the nightmares he'd experienced, but resistance was hard to control, as reflections of his past merged into darkened shades of unresolved grief. His spirit of defiance felt absent. His muzzle went rigid with discontent. "If I'd known about what they've did to you..." His tone dipped into bitter remorse. "I would've ended them."

"It's not your fault, James," Anna quickly affirmed in a breath of disdain. "This mess was something beyond both of us." She paused, feeling the burden that still remained on her heart from the curse. She wasn't who she once was, not even when she had been HYDRA's asset. She felt...less than that. Less relevant, less worthy...less human.

And it was the bleak truth, not a sorrow she had conjured up in her mind.

"But that's not the point," she finally said, shoving her darkness out of her mind's eye for the moment. "The issue is what to do now."

"You mean about the girl?" Bucky inquired with an echo, finding it challenging for his smoldering resentment to fight against the existing corruption to abate. "Do you want to find her?"

Anna sighed the internal war in her heart no less calm. "I don't know," she answered truthfully. "I know it won't help us, it wouldn't do you any good at all. But something inside me won't let the thought go. Maybe it would give us a chance to thwart HYDRA for once. I mean, if we don't know what do to stop our own curse like you said we can help someone else. And I almost feel like..." Anna shook her head, trying to clear the illusion that rattled in her thoughts. "I almost feel like the closer we go to the light, the farther away this darkness will get from us."

Willing himself meditate on what Anna had said, Bucky found himself with no grounds of submission to refuse it. After all, his directive to find Steve's current location had failed and he didn't have the trivial concept where he could search for his best friend. And something about Anna's idea rang true; light and darkness could not coexist, and he was weary of the darkness.

In a smooth effort of reclaimed defiance, Bucky joined his paw with her fur, easing her unsettled doubts as he fell silent, and his distilled pain was replaced with a sudden burst of fire in his veins. He wanted to kiss her, right there, no restraint in emotions, just full exposure of his devotion.

Their mouths were a breath away from contact, he felt curls of heat ghosting out. It became a combination of passion and undying desire. They found the other's soul beneath the cat. A smile tugged at his muzzle, and the fur under his eyes wrinkled as he

A smile tugged at his muzzle, and the fur under his eyes wrinkled as he advertently close of taking her mouth into a loving embrace of his tiny feline lips. She deserved a real kiss of James Barnes, not some mirage from an enhanced and home barren stray. His love for her would always exist, but he couldn't afford to reckon with it, not when Steve was marked as HYDRA's latest target for captivity. The mission had to come first. "I need you to be strong for us." he murmured, softly, caressing her fur with a slow glide of his paw. "There's no going back. What happens next is gonna end this war, once and for all."

* * *

_'How does a man become triumphant when he walks through a valley barren from hope?'_

That became the question racing through his mind as the emptiness in his stomach wouldn't abate. Steve couldn't fight the rampant hunger cravings that possessed his canine body; he needed to devour something meaty and filled with strips of crispy bacon: a Brooklyn cheeseburger with melted old cheddar, grilled onions and lots of pickles.

Languishing in thralls of hunger was clear evidence that his will power had become conquered, damaged with the torrid curse. He spent that last few hours trying to grip the transference that seemed almost endless to fight against. His wet tongue unconscionably licked his chops as the impulsive thought of raiding a local diner invaded his mind; he could leap over the counter tops and enter the kitchen and eat to his heart's content. It would be so easy, but also, a risk, since he was no longer in his strapping form to fight whatever players Baron Wolfgang Strucker threw at him.

A low, audible growl escape from his throat, Steve tried to master self-control; despite the intoxicant scents of temptation looming around him. "C'mon soldier, you can beat this…" He stiffened with a measure of defiance against the barrage of impulsive commands through his canine body. "Wait…" He reared up his head in the second his nose caught a waft of a familiar smell of greasy beef somewhere in the alley. "Oh yeah…" His stomach growled with discontent.

The smell was lulling him to straighten on his four paws. He paced onward with determined strides to the frosted window. Drool trickled over his clenched muzzle, as his azure eyes pinned focus on the faint glow of streetlight caressing over untouched trash cans. It took immeasurable effort to prevent his body from bashing through the glass in one hurried jump. He narrowed his dismal gaze down, trying to resist his constant hunger pains, but thoughts to pick through garbage submerged infinitely. "Please let there be a burger in here …"

"Hey, Cap," Sam's calmed voice wavered back to him, Steve didn't attempt to give his friend a response, he grounded his weight in front of the window. There was nothing that the nondescript safe house could offer to end his hunger, his heightened canine senses confirmed it. The mere thought of indulging on expired can goods evoked bile to knot in his vacant stomach. He growled in disbelief, trying conceived a plan to get a decent meal to suppress his hunger…He even wondered if Stark would feed a super enhanced canine with the finest New York strip…maybe just a plate of gravy-sodden beef and mashed potatoes.

"Worth a shot," Steve whispered in a faint timbre, musing as he envisioned the sarcastic billionaire genius serving up expensive dishes in Stark Tower, and he would be so overt to the attention; Tony did mention once in drift back into his nostalgia lane that he always wanted a dog, something real and not made from his own hands, but Howard never listened.

He wasn't free from the mistakes etched in his heart. The choices he made defined what lied beyond the uniform. The curse was making it impossible to rectify certain pulses of guilt that he felt each time his mind fallen back into the past. He carried the weight of burden on his shoulders, no matter how crushing it felt, he soldiered on, fighting the best he could, and never giving evil the opening to strike him down, until his defiance and hellbent spirit was devolved into a stray dog. He didn;t want to dwell on the impending fate of becoming HYDRA's prisoner, or absolve the failure that he definitely would accept if the spell wasn't revoked. Would the cost of lives decrease if surrender was his choice to end humanity's extraction?

Narrowing his intent gaze back to the paws, Steve realized that maybe the curse would give him something of value in return, maybe he needed to endure; to see the black and white world through another's eyes: Tony, Sam, and Bucky all deserved a real friend, not a commanding enforcer of liberty who always had a plan…Not Captain America.

Vibrations of Sam's footsteps encroached closer as the husky didn't recoil or gain more distance, he stood there waiting for the VA paratrooper to join him."I managed to find a few more protein bars in Barton's truck." Sam ripped open the seal and gently lowered his hand to Steve. "We need to stock up on more supplies if we want to make through the night, Cap."

Holding a sincere gaze on the honorable and sharp-witted man who risked everything to take the charge with him, regardless on how little time he was left to preserve the usage of his voice, Steve knew that Sam was his best defense, a true soldier to the mission and genuine friend who never displayed hesitation to remain at his side. It was basically a rare and deserving gift to have a friend like Sam, and he would gladly lay down his life to spare him from whatever fate awaited beyond the walls of the safehouse.

The scent of the protein bar obstructed his heartfelt emotions, and Steve chewed down a large bite of granola and soy, he managed to give Sam a short nod before swallowing down the chunk, as his hunger sated."It's best that we use cash, HYDRA can't trace us, but if we use your card, they'll compromise your account and our location. We can't risk it."

"Any suggestions for our food supply?" Sam inquired tersely, removing his wallet, and counting his stash of money. "Cause, I know you won't even touch bagged dog food…"

"You're right there," Steve quickly growled repositioning his weight, the very thought of stooping so low making his appetite abate ever so slightly. He desperately resolved to allow that potent image fade from his mind and instead forced himself to think like a soldier. "It would cost too much anyway. We need to go cheap, quick, and nutritious. How much are you carrying?"

"Roughly around seventy bucks, Cap," Sam replied with a dry chuckle, glancing down at the wad of cash stuffed in his wallet. He watched the enhanced canine nibbled on the last piece of the protein bar, refusing to submit to clench that squeezed against his heart.

The situation was becoming dire, Steve was drifting further into the curse, he could vaguely see the absence of discipline reflecting back at him. Time was limited and was the only present defense the captain had against HYDRA. "We need to save for gas as well…Our best bet is to buy a couple boxes of cereal, milk , protein bars and…" Sam chanced another glance at the frosted window within the range of their proximity and sensed a disturbance in the night air. "I think we'll need to stock up our weapon supply…HYDRA won't be far to engage."

"We should probably stock up on some meat, too," Steve added in a low growl, not only driven by the increase cravings of his canine hunger but certainly being swayed by them."Like jerky; something which doesn't need to be cooked, but can give us the kick that we need." Steve continued to think through their options, knowing all too well that his friend was looking him over with concern. He couldn't shake the fog that clouded his rational properties, but he did manage to formulate a decent train of thought. He had to keep himself under control for Sam's sake; the man deserved every inch of effort that he still possessed.

"Seventy should be enough for food and gas, but I don't think it will get us any weapons. Do we still have contact with Barton? He could probably get us something at least a location for an old SHIELD stash in this area of the city, if not weapons themselves."

Sam nodded in equal agreement and quickly pulled out his cell phone while he efficiently placed a new SIM card inside that was recently purchased in the side metal pull out of the device. "I'll try to get in contact with Agent Barton, in the meantime, you should catch up on your rest while we wait out the storm."

Steve hated to be useless and so prone to weariness, but unfortunately, Sam was right. If danger should arise, as he knew it would, he wanted to be able to function as well as the curse would allow him. Right now, he didn't pose much of a threat; his injured body desperately needed time to heal and recuperate. He gave a reserved sigh and nod in Sam's direction.

"Alright," he concurred in a huff, letting his canine form curl into its natural resting position on the cold, hard floor. His muzzle rested on a hind paw as he parted his jaws, and looked back into the direction where Sam was situated. His mind descended into contentment, and he felt a cool brush of wintry air grazing over his fur. He closed his eyes, the world blurred into darkness."...but don't let me rest too long, and wake me up at the first sign of trouble."

"Don't worry, Cap," Sam returned evenly, masking his discontent as he rose to his snow trodden boots, advancing to the door with cautious steps. He glanced back at the husky and smirked before heading back out into the falling whiteness."You'll be the first to hear my warning call."

Danger. A hot flare of red obstructed his vision as Steve reared up his head, perking up his ears feeling all his instincts rake through his body as he detected an intimate threat was approaching. An invisible force of dread yanked against his heart. Blood rushed through his veins as he charged to the closed door at ramming speed, breaking the wood off rusted hinges as it collapsed over the steps, and nearly sent him topside in the mounting seconds he balanced all weight on the edge of it.

"Sam," he barked aloud into the billows of snow. He stared through it, searching for Clint's truck as he panted harder.

He wouldn't let death slip passed him.

In another pant of strained breath, Steve grounded his four paws over the door, claws scraped into the wood as his muzzle lifted skyward, caught a whiff of diesel. "Wait..." His instincts were hitting overdrive as he watched a fleet of operatives assembling at the exit points. A hollow sense of dread seeded in him, and he froze at the sight of a large cage being dragged out from a van's backseat. "You gotta stay clear-"

A haze of blinding light pierced into Steve's eyes, in that moment his ears twitched to the screeching noise of tires as two more armored van skitted to a halt in the wall of snow, and barricaded the alley. As his strength wrestled against the commands of impulse, Steve locked his feverish gaze on the solitary figure guise in black tarnished armor stood atop of Clint's truck, aiming a grenade launcher directly at Sam, who had been forced down into a kneeling with his arms raised behind the back of his head. Two operatives were beside him, leveling the nozzles of their automatics at point black over his temples.

Feeling the absence of all his moral reservations, Steve became ungrounded by choice to engage without mercy retaining in his paws ; the influx of his pulse elevated and muscles clenched under his blond coat as he blocked everything out with the cacophony of his thundering heartbeat. A dark possession of rage overtook him as he leveled a fleeting glance of his fierce blue eyes on the motionless shadow of a deranged monster before him.

"No..." He snarled, air expanded in his lungs. His veins were scorching, as the rush of adrenaline stirred fast in his body, he leaped off the door in heavy intakes of momentum, and landed in front of the pickup, as he trained his sights on a white smeared crossbones painted on the operative's steel mask. Before Steve could move to engage his attack, the operative's launcher discharged out a concussion grenade into the snow and everything deafened into skull crushing silence.

"I've been waiting a long time to leash up Captain America..." The mercenary freed a hateful yell, listening to Steve release a whimper as he relished in the transformed Avenger's painful submission.

The injured husky collapsed into the snow, pleading out for Sam's freedom as looping wire from a snare pole dug into his neck. He failed to deliver a chance of freedom to his friends, but he won't give the fight...Not while pure and unconquerable blood still ran through his veins. "Sam..." He barked affirmingly, and thrashed his weight into the calves of the operative holding the pole, knocking the man down as unhinged instincts controlled him, and in a vicious growl akin to Sam's resounding protests, Steve drove his jutting fangs into Kevlar, tasting a mixture of blood and his tears. He was turning into a real animal, no more resistance prevented him from seizing his moment to expose the full power of his primal nature. He did it for Sam. "Run!"


	33. Chapter 33

**_{33}_**

He wasn't aware of his barred surroundings. The cage that housed him was small, and the rank of a musty blanket draped over the bars created unease in his stomach. He could not feel rhythms of movement, so it seemed likely that he was not in a vehicle, or at the very least not in active transport. Very distant rumors of sound met his pointed ears, but he could not disentangle them to help him build a rational idea of his situation. He would have to assess his actions when things began to happen.

Steve felt a pulse of conviction drumming rapidly in his heart, thunderous pounding that rushed to his ears. It was a cadence that he once resisted not to accept; he remembered the pressure of his studded fangs penetrated deeper into flesh. The operative's muscles tensed as rivets of blood leaked through ripped Kevlar ensnared in his merciless bite.

He had discarded all his emotions-humanity- and became dominated by the rabid and relentless beast that HYDRA's curse forged him into. The shield inside the darkness of the safe house was decaying into an infectious rust; it almost matched his gradual devolution into a full canine.

The noxious presence of HYDRA was near. In seconds of registering the ebbing stiffness overtaking his canine body, his ears twitched to an encroaching disturbance of heavy combat boots crunching in the snow. Each vibration carried sadistic arrogance as Steve intently listened to a muffled voice dragging out spite. "Comfortable in there, fleabag?"

A tactical boot rammed into the bars, jolting Steve's bones with a quick tremor of intrusive pain. All the husky could register through a feverish haze was a garnished smear of white paint that formed a crossbones symbol on a black metallic helmet. The mercenary was familiar, at least his voice. Almost sounded like the distinct and brutal edge of Brock Rumlow. "I'm gonna really enjoy this...No shield to hide under. I guess this isn't your lucky day, Cap."

If Rumlow's taunts had been intended to reduce him, they weren't gaining the HYDRA mercenary pleasure of submission. Clenching his long muzzle, Steve displayed his defiance in a low rumble of a growl. "I don't need luck," his throat ached as he glared levelly back at Rumlow, his blue eyes became smoldering embers of steel. The coarse blond fur of his drenched coat bristled as the serum overpowered his steady pulse."I never have."

As his demented adversary bellowed out a laugh, Rumlow delivered another firm kick at bars, but Steve didn't relent against the mercenary's provoking threat. He tried to think of what he should be doing. But really, there wasn't much he could accomplish while he was trapped behind bars durable than him. On the other hand, if his enemy was targeting to kill him and Sam, perhaps he could be led to opening the latch. Even a hopeless fight sounded better than being a caged dog.

"I guess it's easy to be confident when you're safely out of harm's way," Steve ventured as casually as he could, holding the mercenary's vicious gleam in his unfaltering gaze of hardened blue."You're not afraid of an old, worn out Brooklyn mutt, are you?" It felt like a pretty futile attempt, but Steve knew he had to try something while he still had his own defiance on his side.

Under the steel painted face plate, Rumlow's marred lips twitched into a lewd grin. He detected Steve's play. "You think you've got the right ground here, Cap?" he teased in a warped seethe, and then eased his weight down to his haunches, leveling his concealed dark eyes at the challenging canine. His hand lifted, as a metal blade retracted from a wrist gauntlet-a new weapon for his inhuman tactics. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to make you bleed, Cap. How is your pal Bucky by the way, still tryin' screeching out his memories?"

"You couldn't keep them hidden from him forever," Steve answered, his voice as steady as he could manage. "You never owned him, and you have lost your grip now. He's beaten you." Steve wasn't sure he liked the fact that Bucky was the subject of the conversation as it might lead to his friend being endangered. But the thought of letting Rumlow boast like a victor over Bucky's honor was not something the Captain was willing to let go. Rumlow was a bully, and Steve had never liked bullies much.

"Maybe instead of putting his mind in a blender, I'll just put the whole cat."

Just as those degrading words breached his heart, Steve rose above the onslaught of agony, the enchantment in stride. He reclaimed his humanity. Rumlow was an avatar of HYDRA's will, a voice used to obstruct hope. Steve wouldn't allow it to break him, not when he felt every surge of Brooklyn defiance pulsing through him, the strength that never yielding when mercy wasn't granted.

Steve felt his blood rushing faster, tearing through his veins as though laced with fire. A low growl emitted from his curled lips, and he lashed his paw towards his adversary out of pure rage and primal instinct. The blow was incapable of hitting Rumlow, but the sudden movement did cause the HYDRA agent to jolt back slightly.

"I guess you can't save everyone, Cap," he derided out coldly. His marred lips twisted into a dervish sneer. He raised his hand with a slow drag of the metal spike across the bars, presenting his intended wrath; giving Steve no choice to escape as the edge of his retractable weapon grazed over the canine's furred paw. He wanted to dominate over Steve by making blood drip out of a opened gauge he was prepared to carve out in those seconds he watched the canine recoil back.

With limited possession of his humanity, Steve knew that it was a thinned line to cross, one sense of doubt would bring harm to his friend. He needed to become battle- focus, with steeled determination as his blood was pumping at full momentum. It was time to prove that he was still carrying faith inside. "You really think you're honestly gonna win this fight?" There was still a falter in his graveled voice, as a deep breath fogged against the metal bars of his cage.

He was capable of breaking out but he felt a cold wave of dread rushing over him, as his eyes trained back on Sam. He had to restore to using a brazen attempt of defiance to distract Rumlow's pride while conceived a plan to save his friend's life."I'm not the caged dog here, Rumlow...You've always been leashed in HYDRA's grip and I bet when you're no longer for their use," A blatant smirk curved on his long muzzle."They'll just put you down."

"Put me down?" Rumlow mocked coldly, stepping closer to the cage, provoking the canine with a sneer of unphased disgust. "Your pal has been downgraded. Nothing more than a stray fleabag. I knew you would infect Barnes with that moralistic disease you carry so well, Rogers, when his mind was going high speed in the blender, he screamed out your name until Pierce silenced him, betcha you didn't know that, huh?"

The blood that had been flaming with heat now froze ice-cold in Steve's body, the words piercing him deeply and in a way he couldn't quite place. He felt the fierce pain of sorrow as his mind pictured the scene against his will: his friend being fried into a hollow shell, his last shreds of humanity screaming for the one man who should have been there. He hadn't been there for Bucky when his friend needed him most, whether that was his own fault or not. Steve would have given anything to bring the suffering on himself, but that was not an option laid before him. He could only wallow in the misery of his dearest brother.

Yet after the shock and searing pain of loss and torture had rested upon Steve, he felt a tiny prick of hope warm the ice of his mind. Bucky had been silenced, but he had also proven that his soul survived HYDRA's programming for decade upon decade. They could train him to stop saying things, but they could not conquer him. Rumlow was right: Bucky was infected. But Steve knew that this contamination would be the thing that kept his best friend from becoming a captive to the embrace of death rather than a malady that needed curing.

This wasn't much hope to cling to, but it was enough. Steve took in a slow deep breath as Rumlow waited with a smirk only inches from his face. This operative was trying to break his will, but if he couldn't truly break Bucky, Steve could be strong, too. The canine looked directly into Rumlow's eyes and held his gaze for several seconds before speaking.

"Who's the one who is downgraded? Bucky may suffer great pain and humiliation, but he is not silent anymore. You, on the other hand, remain trapped by HYDRA's brainwashing. I'd sooner be a prisoner in a cage or in a false body than in the lies or HYDRA."

The scarred mercenary lifted his wrist blade directly at bars, the murderous impulse to impale an inch of it within Steve's heart was growing potent to dismiss, regardless of his orders to transport the patriotic canine to Baron Strucker. His lips curled into a malignant scowl, as he held back his contempt and narrowed an empty stare at the smears of blood left in the snow. He recognized the invalidity displayed before him, Steve was injured and those drops of red confirmed impending submission to HYDRA. "It's not just your life that HYDRA craves to shackle down..." He predicted the captain's heartache when he unveiled a harsh revelation to dampened Steve's recalcitrant spirit. "You've got a collection of friends, but the main prize is that old woman you love, what's her name again?"

_Peggy..._Steve thrashed himself against the bars of the cage without any premeditation. His canine instincts coupled with fear and fury made him into a senseless animal, his barred teeth clashing against the rusty metal enclosure. The pads of his paws pressed hard against the barrier as his claws reached slightly into the open, and he unleashed a deep, vicious growl.

He couldn't think straight, and he had nothing to say. All he felt was the pain, and all he knew to do was physically reject it. So he continued to slam himself against the metal wall of the cage, hoping to catch just a bit of his enemy, though his attempts were in vain. His icy azure eyes gleamed with near madness, and had he been free, his animal inclinations would likely have carried him beyond his own moral standards and led him to tear Rumlow to shreds. As it was, he remained a caged dog, livid with rage but unable to use it.

"I think we're gonna a riot breaking you, Cap," Rumlow sneered wickedly under the steel mask, feeling the pressure of third-degree burns pulsate over his deformed lips. His stance unflinching, as he savored at the sight of the First Avenger's unhinged display, watching Steve's unyielding spirit decay within the vessel of the imprisoned and drooling beast. "You're nothing but a gutless mutt for HYDRA...And your friends will share that reality with you very soon."

Steve had nothing more to do or say than had been said. He took in great draughts of breath, trying in vain to calm himself. He tried to keep himself from thinking about it, but images of his loved ones cursed like he was, destined to a future of humiliation and lost humanity, plagued his consciousness. His stomach, which was already in ineffective shape from his lack of food and injuries, seemed to be doing flips inside him as his levels nausea grew. But the worst part of it all was that he was powerless to stop all this, and he was even an indirect cause of it.

"You're just wasting your time," he finally ground out, trying to turn his mind onto the moment and away from his sickening despair. "Doing all of this will gain you nothing." It wasn't exactly a relevant response, but he needed something to focus his ire and attention towards; otherwise, Rumlow would get what he wanted.

"What makes you think you're gonna win," Rumlow taunted coldly, the gravity of his malice conveyed enough revelation to lance destain through Steve's virile heart. His dark eyes glowed with shades of black onyx as his spiked blade grazed over the bars, in a precise and amusing effort to slice into the resilient canine's furred paw."You've got nothing left, and your pal, Bucko is probably roadkill thanks to my boys...So before you shoot your mouth off, Cap, you gotta think about your friends, I mean those soon to be target practices for HYDRA."

"Think about 'em?" Steve questioned out loud, though he wished he had kept the thought in his head. For Rumlow to say that seemed to imply that perhaps there was a way out for them. His heart thundered against the threats and mockery, but even though Rumlow was the furthest thing from trustworthy, there was the tiniest possibility that a deal was to be offered, and just maybe Steve could find a way to save some of those he loved.

"Cut to the chase, Rumlow," Steve growled, his ear flitting back against the cold sweep of wind. "Even a cat doesn't play with a mouse this long; we both know you have an angle, so let's stop chatting and do business."

Steve's attempt at confidence was all he could muster, but it was definitely a false display. What were the chances that at, in the event of an offer, Steve could actually agree to any terms with HYDRA? He would not compromise his morals for anything or anyone-even his friends. They would be ashamed of him if he did. He would gladly give his life for them if it was asked of him, but this seemed more complicated than that. Though his mind was less than fully sharp, Cap could think of nothing HYDRA could possibly want from him in any category, sinful or otherwise.

The blade in Rumlow's hand didn't intimidate him, but uncertainty and gray areas of conscience trained his dark eyes on the caged dog, piercing, and savage.

For an extended moment of gathering his vile thoughts, he aspired to douse out the last surge of faith that Steve harbored. "You still think you're the big guy, huh?" he chuckled, evidently amused by the dog's reclaimed defiance. "All I see is just a mutt who can't even save his friend..." He gestured a gauntleted hand to Sam kneeling in the snow with his hands tied back. "So you want to cut to the chase, well, first the bargain goes like this, Cap, you turn yourself over to HYDRA with a fight and your wingman over there won't taste lead."

In reserved silence, Steve cast his dismal eyes to his friend, wanting to call out but knowing that such an action would only end in misery for one or both of them. Sam was definitely not going to escape in his present condition, and since Steve was already captured by HYDRA, it seemed worth it to agree if it meant Sam could get out of the crosshairs alive.

Steve didn't enjoy the succession of the victory, he discarded all primal instincts and darted his focus back to Sam through a feverish haze. His face steeled in those few moments he seized onto humanity. "Sam," he growled out, the depth of his baritone wrenched by untamed rage. He was becoming detached from himself, barely grasping onto humanity as he recoiled away from the wounded operative, alarmed by his unwilled resolve to inflict pain. Rumlow's hollow and senseless laughter confirmed that he slipped off the deep end, crossed a line. "Wh-what did I do?"

At that moment of unrushed tension, Steve froze in harrowing realization. His azure eyes narrowed at the scraps of leather becoming covered by snow. The canine Avenger shook his head, trying to set his emotions in restraint, as he glared up at Rumlow standing poised on the hood of Clint's truck, preparing to execute another order to his strike team while Sam was marked in the crosshairs. A dog couldn't win this fight, but then again he was no ordinary mutt to put into submission, he was from Brooklyn and he had a plan.

"One of us is true to his word," Steve said after a moment of restraint. "One of us is not. I won't comply with you until the condition is carried out. Let him go, and we have a deal. You have my word." Steve paused, glancing dismally again at Sam. "But if anything happens to him," he growled, glaring darkly at Rumlow, "we will see how much damage I can do before you can kill me."

Rumlow receded a step away from the cage, his masked eyes intently traced over the patches of blond fur dissolving as skin became visible in the snowy haze. He could only estimate have much time the super-soldier had to recover his chiseled bulk. How many seconds would it take to inject another sleep agent into Steve's neck? The curse wasn't fully dominant, which gave the HYDRA mercenary an expected revelation that Captain America was returning. How could the soldier be strong enough to fight against dark elements? What if he ordered his men to pull the trigger on Wilson? "Not now..." He seethed.

No..." Sam's raged filled protested wrangled through the air; driven by the choice to yield his life to HYDRA. "Cap...Don't give yourself over."

"Sam, I'm not going to watch you die," Steve strained in a heavy pant, though his words were more of a distraction than a necessity. Of course, they were true, but as the situation became more intense, so did his own canine body. White-hot pain began to flash through his limbs, pulsing like his heartbeat as his stubbed digits began to crack and groan into new positions.

He wasn't sure what it was that was causing what appeared to be a reversal of the enchantment, but he knew he had to capitalize on it while he had it. He focused his mind on all the light he could remember: of the Avengers defeating the invasion in New York, of his own Howling Commandos freeing those under Nazi control, of Peggy's shining, chocolate eyes beckoning him to persevere.

As his thoughts sailed further, Steve concentrated on a single memory-an undying flame, blazing with all emotion and passion against the void within himself, even the coldness of enveloping snow. Contentment restored him. It was an illusion of pure hope; a flicker of ageless light that burned through every shadow of doubt and grief. Flecks of ice rippled in the stillness of his blue eyes. There in the emptiness, he found her, Peggy.

_"Is this what you believe yourself to become, Captain?" Her untainted voice spirited through the darkness abstracting his mind. She was a ghost of his conscience, __steering him back to solid ground. __She was standing close, so reachable that he caught a glimpse of that dangerous flare in her dark eyes. The power of her steeled gaze held unyielding faith in him. She parted her ruby lips, slightly, conveying a sense of restoration in her defining words. "__I thought a kid from Brooklyn never backs down from a fight, and yet you're allowing HYDRA to win. __Prove that Captain America is more than just his shield, my darling..."_

Right at that span of time, while staring into her unyielding depths, Steve found reflections of uncompromised strength. He needed to become Captain America again. Something powerful erupted within him, hot steel dominated the icy possession of HYDRA's will; he felt renewed.

In a violent thrust of his foreleg, he slammed his paw against the metal bar of the cage. His enhanced strength dented the metal hinges and greatly damaged the door, but it was still intact. He quickly cast a stern glance up at Rumlow, who had recoiled partially away and seemed to be digging for something in his vest's pocket. With a revamp of urgency, Steve cried out and thrashed all his weight into the unattached bars, breaking through and attempting to gain his footing."Sam, hold on, I'm getting you out of here."

Within seconds of feeling the coldness nip at his shredding fur, as cords of muscle bulged, Steve fell gracelessly off the truck's platform, landing in the snow with a harsh thud. His paws clenched with a dangerous rush of serum. He rolled onto his stomach, barring his teeth as silver and blue tendrils of intense light slashed through his canine body.

A mass of flesh grew over his white-furred paws and morphed into hands. His fingers were spreading out and created small trenches in the snow. The calling of his strength never felt so effective. He became aware of the mission before him, stowing back no repulse of resistance against the venomous magic.

He became Captain America again. A heartbeat of valor and liberty. It was the very life -blood of the serum. Despite, the prelude of his darkness hour, Steve never ceased to submit to the venomous power of HYDRA. Sam's life was on the line, operatives were lined up to take open fire at Rumlow's command.

_'I can do this...' _He breathed measuredly and screwed his eyes shut, rivets of hot sweat matted the hard flesh of his expanding torso. In heaving and strained breaths, he allowed the spell to assail when his body glowed with a bluish aura. He felt bones twisting and aligning until all that reminded in the wake of his painful transformation, as his half-naked, chiseled body lying drenched in a charge of momentum, he jumped onto his feet, discarding the reaction to ice slicing into his skin and geared up for his attack.

It appeared that the slew of HYDRA agents with Sam pinned down did not yet have permission to shoot their hostage as no one had fired on him. However, one aimed his weapon towards Steve and fired wildly, missing twice before he finally collected himself together for a leap.

Steve launched forward and let himself slam into the man with the smoking gun, immediately knocking the man out. He then resolved his attention to the man behind Sam, issuing an uncoordinated kick which sent the operative flying backwards. Steve's head swam and his limbs would not quite obey his mind's commands, but he managed to grasp his friend's bonds in human fingers and break them apart.

"Run and don't look back," Steve ordered to Sam, hearing boots behind him and a prick on the back of his neck. He wasn't going to make it out; he knew that. But Sam might. Steve's body began to feel heavier, and his vision began to have dark spots in it. He must have been injected with something. He reached down and grabbed one of the weapons from the beaten foes, thrusting it into Sam's hand.

"Hurry," he bellowed, his speech a bit slurred but still full of resolve.

It was a burst of light that seared through Sam's retinas in the seconds, his blurring gaze settled on the super-solider. Steve was back wearing only the navy blue pants of his uniform, somehow the transformation from dog to man didn't leave him fully uncovered, but the coldness of the air didn't avail. The gun weighed against the clutch of his glove as he took from Steve's grip and dismissed the order. "I'm not leaving you," he declared, breathlessly, voice strained by riddled exhaustion. He wasn't giving up. He valued friendship to the highest regard of sacrifice.

The loss of Riley never obstructed his honor and duty as a soldier, it only strengthened his commitment.

"If you can make it out, then you keep runnin', Cap," He looked into Steve's eyes, the deepest shade of oceanic blue held a gleam of submission. His muted temperament was becoming tested as seconds fleeted, and coldness slowly cruised in his veins. The drive to protect him ungrounded him. Steve needed to hold on."I've got this..."

"Sam, there are people who need you," Steve affirmed stubbornly. "I'm not making it out of here no matter what tactics we use; I'm hit, and I won't be awake much longer. But this way at least you can get away." Steve grabbed his friend's shoulder and clenched it tightly, meeting Sam's gaze. "Please," he said more quietly. "I'll be fine as long as I know that someone is there to protect the others. That's the best thing you can do for me."

Sam wanted to reject the bordering pain against his heart, leaving Steve to stand alone in the fight only slew his hope deeper. The choice he made years back to become a paratrooper charged through him as he felt cornered down with the gravity of Steve's disheartened words, he wanted to save people, march into the gates of the underworld and reignite the existence of salvation. He believed in the virtues and carried them through, but everything presently felt unstable as he stared at the ringleader-Rumlow, murderous contempt only reflected back. He presumed Steve's fate: the inexorable up-shots of defeat.

Frigidly, Sam quirked his lips into a taut grimace, refusing to comply. He steered a hardened glance at Rumlow's daring his reaction with a hollow stare. He didn't want Steve yielding to HYDRA, not alone. "Just like that, you're giving yourself up?" he whispered in deep resonance, seizing the First Avenger's pained stare. "The best thing I can do is haul your heavy Spangled butt out of here, Cap."

Steve fought against the onslaught of pain leeching in his chest, his heart swelled with contracting remorse as his narrowed passive azure orbs gazed at Sam's opened hand. A cast of guilt shadowed over his boyish features as he exchanged a glance with his friend. "Sam," he clenched his jaw, sensing that his time being a human was decaying, and he felt his balance faltering as the weight of his choice to leave Sam pulverize his spirit.

As a mask of pain washed over the chiseled edges of his features, Steve tilted his head, his luminous blue eyes misted with unshed tears. "Forgive me for draggin' you in this with me...It's my own my fault why HYDRA came after you. This isn't your fight anymore. You're done more than enough for me, but I can't lose my wingman,"

Drawing out a tremulous breath, he mounted Sam's shoulder with a firm grip of his deforming hand, the intensity of his eyes began to recede as he accepted the gravity of his infinite decision. "You know there's only one way out of this, Sam," his voice was caught in his throat as he leveled a dismal glare at Sam, apparent to the wavering in his depths."I can't take you down with me..." Time was growing urgent as he felt the thralls of his relentless curse gripping him back into submission.

In seconds of feeling a knife plunge into his heart, Sam watched a contrast of blond fur spread over Steve's bare chest and expanse of solid bulk, as bones jutted and realigned back into the morphic form of the Brooklyn canine. A flash of blinding light ensnared his vision as Sam held into Steve, grounded his thrashing movements into a steady calm as the final vestiges of the transformation merged and amplified until all that prevailed was a beautiful and well-built tawny-blond furred husky tucking his lengthy muzzle into Sam's jacket, whimpering out breaths of unbidden pain.


End file.
